H.M.ROSS 


3 


\  o 


HER  BUND   FOLLY. 


HER  BLIND  FOLLY. 


BY  H.  M.  ROSS, 

Author  of  "That  Man's  Daughter" 


o 


NEW  YORK,  CINCINNATI,  CHICAGO: 
BENZIQER     BROTHERS, 

Printers  to  the  Hnlv  Apostolic  See. 


Copyright,  1906,  by  BENZIGER  BROTHERS. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I.  PAGE 

AUNT  HANNAH  AND  HER  RELATIVES        .       ,      .       „      ••       .        7 

CHAPTER  II. 
MB.  TARRANT  ASSERTS  HIMSELF 18 

CHAPTER   III. 
THE  RECONCILIATION      .       .      •       .       .       .       .      .       .       .      .27 

CHAPTER  IV. 
THE  WOMAN  REFUSES  .       .       .      ,      .      , 87 

CHAPTER  V. 
"BLIND  FOLLY"     .       .      .      .      .      ...       .       .       .       .48 

CHAPTER  VI. 
THE  BEGINNING       ...       ...,.       ...       .58 

CHAPTER   VII. 
THE  LOVE  OF  LUCILE    ...........      68 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
CALAMITY ••....77 

CHAPTER  IX. 
LUCILE  AND  HER  FATHER 87 

CHAPTER   X. 
PEGGY  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY 97 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   XI.  PAGE 

LUCILE  COMES  HOME 105 

CHAPTER   XII. 
REALIZATION 114 

CHAPTER  Xm. 
IN  THE  DEPTHS 123 

CHAPTER   XIV. 
PEGGY'S  KNIGHT 134 

CHAPTER  XV. 
TEDDY'S  SEARCH 143 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
FAILURE ; 153 

CHAPTER   XVII. 

PAUL  NOBLE'S  WIFE     .       .       .      „      .-      ,      .       .       .       .       .162 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 
THE  ADVERTISEMENT ...       .      .    172 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
RELEASE 181 

CHAPTER  XX. 
THE  END 190 


HER  BLIND  FOLLY. 


CHAPTER   I. 

AUNT  HANNAH  AND  HER  RELATIVES. 

"  LUCILE,  are  you  coming  down  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  Peggy — but  this  book  is  so  interesting — and  it  is 
the  twentieth  time  I  have  been  interrupted.  No;  I'm  not  going 
down." 

"But  Aunt  Hannah—" 

"  Bother  Aunt  Hannah !  I'd  rather  be  a  waiting-maid  in  an 
almshouse  than  have  to  dance  attendance  on  Aunt  Hannah ! " 

Peggy  Stanton  withdrew.  She  knew  better  than  to  prolong 
a  conversation  with  Lucile  Tarrant  in  this  mood,  but  her  face 
wore  a  troubled  expression  as  she  went  on  downstairs,  meeting  a 
young  man  coming  up.  He  had  a  fishing-rod  swung  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Lady  Peggy  ?  "  he  asked,  cheerily. 

"  I'm  going  to  get  Hail  Columbia/'  she  said,  making  a  wry 
face. 

"  And  in  what  key  are  you  going  to  get  the  patriotic  anthem  ?  " 

7 


8         AUNT  HANNAH  AND  HER  RELATIVES. 

"  Three  or  four  flats — you  know  enough  about  music  to  under- 
stand the  key,"  demurely. 

"  Poor  Lady  Peggy !  " 

"  Thank  you — I  can  get  along.    Save  your  pity  for  Lucile." 

"  Lucile  ?    Again  ?    What  has  she  been  doing  now  ?  " 

"  Nothing — as  usual.  Aunt  Hannah  insists  upon  her  coming 
to  the  parlor  to  sing  for  Mrs.  Dulcimer — you  know  her.  And  she 
won't  come,  that's  all." 

"  Did  Aunt  Hannah  send  you  after  her  ?  " 

"  She  did." 

"  And  Lueile  won't  go !  And  you'll  have  to  catch  it  in  her 
stead!  It's  a  shame,  Lady  Peggy.  I'll  talk  to  Lucile  myself, 
and  see  if  I  can't — " 

"Don't,  Will.  She's  upset  enough  now.  Let  her  alone.  1 
don't  blame  her  a  bit,  and  I  won't  mind.  Aunt  Hannah's  tempers 
soon  fly  over."  She  laughed  at  him  and  passed  on.  He  put  his 
head  in  at  his  sister's  door  when  he  reached  it. 

"  Say,  Luce,  don't  you  think  you're  imposing  on  Peggy's  good- 
nature ?  You  know  what  Aunt  Hannah  is." 

No  answer. 

"  Do  as  you  like,"  he  said,  then,  irritably.  "  But  I  thought  you 
had  more  sense  of  squareness — " 

There  was  a  muttered  exclamation;  an  object  hurtled  across 
the  room.  Owing  to  her  woman's  accuracy  of  aim,  it  struck  the 
side  wall  instead  of  the  brown  head  it  was  intended  for.  He  dodged 
and  laughed  as  he  closed  the  door  behind  him.  Lucile  Tarrant, 


AUNT  HANNAH  AND  HER  RELATIVES.         9 

in  a  white  heat  of  anger,  fairly  tore  the  door  open  and  went  down- 
stairs, entering  the  room,  where  sat  three  women  of  mature  age, 
one  a  visitor — and  Peggy.  Aunt  Hannah  looked  up  frowning. 
Mrs.  Dulcimer's  angular  face  wore  an  expression  of  sweetness 
soured  at  its  very  birth.  Peggy's  fair  little  countenance  was 
slightly  flushed. 

"  Oh,  you  have  condescended  to  change  your  mind ! "  said 
the  old  lady  in  a  shrill  voice.  "  We  are  grateful  for  the  favor, 
Miss  Lucile." 

Words  of  retort  trembled  on  the  young  girl's  lips,  but  before 
she  could  open  them  another  voice  spoke : 

"  Poor  Lucile  has  not  been  well  these  last  two  days.  You  must 
allow  for  her  indisposition,  Hannah." 

The  cold  tones  drew  the  attention  of  Aunt  Hannah  and  her 
visitor,  while  Lucile,  with  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders,  looked  straight 
into  her  mother's  eyes.  Mrs.  Tarrant  never  took  prominent  part 
in  anything.  When  she  sat  in  a  room  her  chair  was  sure  to  be 
placed  in  the  most  obscure  corner,  and  in  company  she  seldom 
joined  in  the  conversation.  Probably  it  was  this  quietness  of 
demeanor  that  chilled  people  in  her  presence;  she  gave  one  the 
impression  of  repressed  power;  never  assertive,  she  still  exercised 
a  silent  influence  that  was  remarkable — until  one  was  as  well 
acquainted  with  her  as  her  husband  David  Tarrant,  or  her 
daughter  Lucile,  or  her  son  William.  They  knew,  if  they  did  not 
understand  how  she  did  it,  that  Mrs.  Tarrant  always  had  her  own 
way. 


10        AUNT  HANNAH  AND  HER  RELATIVES. 

"  She  might,  at  least,  try  to  be  agreeable,"  grumbled  Aunt 
Hannah.  "  I  ask  her  very  seldom." 

"  What  seems  to  be  the  trouble  with  you,  Miss  Tarrant  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Dulcimer,  sweetly,  addressing  the  back  of  the  girl's 
head,  for  she  had  seated  herself  at  the  piano,  and  was  turning  over 
the  music.  „ 

"A  great  wish  to  mind  my  own  business,"  said  Lucile,  quite 
clearly.  She  swung  around  on  the  stool.  "  You — you  were  speak- 
ing to  me,  Mrs.  Dulcimer  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Yes ;  this  is  quite  a  dif- 
ficult song.  Peggy,  will  you  turn  for  me  ?  " 

Peggy's  face  was  very  red  as  she  crossed  the  room.  Mrs. 
Tarrant  sat  up  straight,  frowning.  Aunt  Hannah  was  black  as  a 
thunder-cloud.  Mrs.  Dulcimer  still  smiled  in  her  own  sweetly- 
sour  manner.  And  whether  it  was  the  annoyance,  or  whether 
it  was  satisfaction  at  having  launched  a  Parthian  shaft  at  the 
most  meddlesome  old  woman  within  a  distance  of  thirty  miles, 
Lucile  Tarrant  sang  exquisitely.  She  sang  song  after  song,  too, 
without  solicitation.  After  a  while  Mrs.  Dulcimer  began  to  grow 
uneasy,  for  she  had  two  other  calls  to  make,  and  there  seemed 
no  prospect  of  getting  away.  In  the  interval  between  the  sixth 
and  seventh  song,  and  while  Lucile  was  playing  the  introductory 
bars,  she  spoke. 

"  Don't  you  ever  grow  tired,  Miss  Tarrant  ?  " 

"  Never,  when  I  am  practising.  Perhaps  you  are  of  listening 
tome?" 

"  Not  at  all.    You  sing  delightfully.    But  Fm  afraid  I  must 


AUNT    HANNAH    AND    HER    RELATIVES.  11 

put  off  the  pleasure  until  a  future  time.  I  have  to  leave.  So 
pleased,  Miss  Tarrant !  And  I  congratulate  you,  Hannah,  on 
your  charming  and  agreeable  niece.  Good-by,  Mrs.  Tarrant — 
and  Peggy/' 

Her  voice  changed  then — for  Peggy,  the  lovable,  hadn't  an 
enemy  in  the  world.  Miss  Tarrant's  eyes  were  bright  and  spark- 
ling and  her  lips  were  smiling  as  she  bade  Mrs.  Dulcimer  a  sweet 
adieu.  Well  she  was  aware  of  what  awaited  her  once  the  door 
closed  upon  the  visitor's  dowdy  form.  But  Aunt  Hannah  had 
compelled  obedience  and  she  had  yielded  it  after  a  fashion,  and 
revenged  herself  also,tafter  another  fashion.  Not  a  word  was 
spoken.  Aunt  Hannah  leaned  forward  on  her  stick,  staring  from 
under  beetling  brows  at  the  very  handsome  and  very  defiant  young 
lady.  Peggy  sat  upon  the  piano  stool,  a  little  bit  afraid  of  the 
gathering  storm.  It  was  indeed  gathering,  and  about  to  break, 
and  this  hush  that  preceded  it  was  ominous  of  what  its  fury 
would  be. 

Into  the  silence  Mrs.  Tarrant's  voice  came  once  more,  and 
what  she  said  made  Peggy  clasp  her  hands  nervously  and  made 
Aunt  Hannah's  face  light  up  with  satisfaction. 

"  Lucile,  go  to  your  own  room,  and  stay  there  until  you  are 
willing  to  apologize  to  your  aunt  for  conduct  befitting  an  ill-bred 
school-girl.  Go ! " 

Lucile  had  never  gainsaid  that  quiet  voice  in  all  her  life — nor 
dared  she  gainsay  it  now.  The  triumphant  expression  changed 
a  little,  but  she  held  her  head  just  as  high  as  ever.  Then  she 


12  AUNT    HANNAH    AND    HER    RELATIVES. 

turned  quickly  and  left  the  room.  Peggy  rose  to  follow.  Again 
Mrs.  Tarrant  spoke. 

"  I  wish  you  would  stay  here,  Peggy,"  she  said.  "  Lucile 
must  be  made  to  understand  that  she  has  acted  in  a  very  unpleas- 
ant manner." 

"I  promised  to  look  up  a  poem  for  Mr.  Tarrant  this  after- 
noon," answered  Peggy.  "  I  did  not  intend  to  follow  Lucile." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon."  Mrs.  Tarrant  smiled  at  her.  She  had 
an  agreeable  smile;  it  seemed  to  light  up  her  whole  countenance. 
Peggy  Stanton  withdrew  then,  leaving  Aunt  Hannah  and  Mrs. 
Tarrant  alone.  The  latter  did  not  speak  again  for  some  minutes, 
but  went  on  with  her  embroidery.  The  old  lady  still  kept  her 
habitual  position;  leaning  forward  on  her  thick  stick,  her  brows 
drawn  together  over  a  pair  of  sharp  if  faded  blue  eyes. 

"  I  saw  Charlie  to-day,"  said  Mrs.  Tarrant,  at  last. 

"Charlie  who?" 

"  Stanton,  of  course."  She  glanced  up  from  her  embroidery. 
"  He  is  looking  extremely  well." 

"  Humph ! " 

"  He  stopped  to  speak  to  me.  He  had  David  with  him.  The 
little  fellow  is  two  years  old  now." 

"  David  ?  Is  that  what  he  called  him  ?  "  In  spite  of  herself 
a  gleam  of  interest  shot  into  the  old  lady's  face. 

"Yes.  After  Tarrant — Charlie  always  thought  the  world  of 
Tarrant.  His  wife,  he  tells  me,  is  not  very  well — a  bit  delicate." 

Aunt  Hannah  said  nothing. 


AUNT    HANNAH    AND    HER    RELATIVES.  18 

"  I  think  it  would  be  well  for  you  to  send  for  Charlie  Stanton." 

"  Well  or  ill,  I  don't  intend  to." 

"You  do  not?" 

"  Did  he  ask  you— " 

"  Oh,  no.  He  never  said  a  word.  He  is  still  wrapped  up  in 
Leila,  heart  and  soul." 

"  He  is — well,  he  can  have  Leila,  and  she  can  have  him.  I 
don't  want  to  have  anything  to  do  with  them." 

"  There  you  are  wrong,  Hannah.  If  Le;la  died  he  would 
never  become  reconciled  to  you,  knowing  that  you  disliked  her. 
It  isn't  worth  while  holding  in  bad  blood." 

"  Since  when  have  I  appointed  you  my  adviser-in-chief  ? " 
asked  Aunt  Hannah,  tartly. 

Mrs.  Tarrant  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Common  decency  does  that.  Three  years  ago  you  banished 
Charlie  Stanton,  your  nephew  and  prospective  heir,  from  your 
house  because  he  chose  to  marry  a  Catholic.  I  suppose  you  know 
that  he  and  the  boy  are  both  Catholics  now  ?  " 

"  He — and  the  boy !  "  sputtered  Aunt  Hannah.  "  And  you 
ask  me  to  send  for  him?  How  dare  you?  I  knew.  I  knew  it 
would  be  just  that  way.  I  knew — " 

Mary  Tarrant  rose  from  her  chair,  and  coming  over  stood 
close  to  the  old  lady. 

"  Nevertheless,  he  really  cares  for  you.  His  change  of  faith 
hasn't  made  any  change  in  his  affection.  Hannah,  it  would  be 
better  to  send  for  him." 


14  AUNT    HANNAH    AND    HER    RELATIVES. 

Aunt  Hannah  straightened  up  and  looked  into  the  woman's 

face. 

/ 

"  Do  you  know  that  you  may  be  putting  a  nail  in  your  own 
coffin  ?  "  she  asked.  "  If  he  comes  back  and  I  give  him  his  old 
position,  what  will  the  Tarrants  do  ?  " 

"  Exactly  as  they  did  before,"  said  Mary  Tarrant.  "  That 
carries  very  little  weight  with  me.  Money  is  always  acceptable, 
of  course,  but  it  is  yours  and  you  are  at  liberty  to  do  exactly  as 
you  please  with  it/' 

"  One  would  imagine,  to  hear  you,  that  you  meant  every  word 
you  say,"  said  Aunt  Hannah,  sourly.  "  But  you  can't  fool  me, 
Mary  Tarrant.  I'll  think  it  over.  Perhaps  I  will  send  for  him. 
I  don't  know.  I'll  ask  Dave.  At  least,  he's  honest." 

A  faint  red  tinged  Mary  Tarrant's  colorless  cheek.  She 
pressed  her  lips  together,  and  went  back  to  her  embroidery-frame. 
Nor  did  she  speak  again. 

***** 

Hannah  Hubbold  was  the  wealthiest  woman  in  the  town  which 
her  husband  had  literally  founded,  and  the  big  Hubbold  Mills 
were  her  exclusive  property.  She  had  had  a  better  head  for  busi- 
ness than  her  husband,  and  picked  up  the  reins  of  government  at 
his  death,  doing  excellently  indeed  until  a  severe  fall  some  eight 
winters  previous  had  partly  crippled  her — to  the  extent  that  she 
could  not  take  so  active  a  part  in  outside  affairs,  nor  could  she  get 
around  at  all  without  the  use  of  a  cane. 

The   Tarrants  had  lived  in   Hubbold,   and  David   Tarrant, 


AUNT    HANNAH    AND    HER    RELATIVES.  15 

Hannah  Hubbold's  brother,  was  employed  as  general  overseer 
of  the  Mills.  Hannah's  severity  in  demanding  an  accounting  of 
every  detail  kept  him  up  to  the  mark ;  and  again  he  was  naturally 
very  conscientious.  These  two  things  made  an  efficient  overseer 
of  David  Tarrant  the  dreamer,  and  only  these. 

Peggy  and  Charlie  Stanton  had  grown  up  with  Aunt  Hannah, 
their  mother,  her  sister,  dying  when  one  was  five  and  the  other 
nine  years  old.  Charlie  was  the  old  lady's  darling,  and  she  had 
drawn  up  a  will  leaving  the  bulk  of  her  property  to  him.  But 
love  stepped  into  his  life — he  met  little  Leila  Allen — and  as  if 
her  poverty  were  not  sufficient  crime,  she  was  also  a  Koman 
Catholic.  Aunt  Hannah  stormed  and  raved  and  threatened  in 
vain.  Charlie  married  and  went  away,  with  the  old  lady's  bitter 
renunciation  of  him  ringing  in  his  ears — an  unpleasant  memory 
enough,  but  one  which  he  knew  he  could  not,  very  well,  have 
avoided,  since  he  felt  that  he  owed  a  higher  duty  to  himself  and  to 
the  girl  who  loved  him. 

That  had  been  three  years  before.  Aunt  Hannah  went  down 
into  the  town,  persuaded,  cajoled,  and  commanded  her  brother 
David  to  sell  his  own  little  house  and  come  up  to  live  with  her. 
The  two  children,  Lucile  and  William,  protested  vigorously.  But 
Mary  Tarrant,  with  an  eye  to  the  future,  simply  found  a  pur- 
chaser, and  the  following  month  saw  them  in  the  big  mansion  over- 
looking the  bay,  amid  luxurious  surroundings  and  with  many 
servants  instead  of  one  to  do  their  bidding.  Lucile  and  William 
saw  things  differently  when  they  realized  the  change  this  made 


16        AUNT  HANNAH  AND  HER  RELATIVES. 

in  their  lives,  and  were  inclined  secretly  to  admire  the  mother 
who  had  insisted  upon  their  coming.  At  first  everything  ran 
placidly  enough.  But  before  long  Aunt  Hannah's  imperious 
temper  brought  much  discord  where  all  had  been  harmony.  Little 
Peggy  Stanton  would  not  quarrel  with  the  most  irritable  person 
alive.  Lucile  Tarrant  was  her  direct  opposite,  having  both 
temper  and  tongue  of  her  own.  Charlie  Stanton  was  sturdily 
honest,  energetic,  with  a  calm  judgment,  manly  in  all  his  ways. 
Will  Tarrant  was  a  dreamer  like  his  father,  without  the  father's 
conscientiousness,  and  although  there  was  work  to  do  at  the  Mills, 
he  found  it  easier,  after  a  while,  to  drift  off  boating,  shooting,  or 
fishing,  than  to  attend  to  any  serious  occupation.  At  first  he  took 
but  a  day  or  two — then  his  holidays  became  more  frequent,  and 
now,  to  the  horror  of  Aunt  Hannah's  prudent  soul,  he  seldom 
went  at  all,  unless  need  for  money  pressed  him. 

Yet  there  were  advantages. 

David  Tarrant  was  simple-hearted  and  upright,  and  en- 
joyed nothing  better  than  to  sit  talking  and  playing  checkers  with 
his  sister  Hannah  during  the  long  evenings.  And  Will  had  a  fine 
baritone  voice  and  Lucile  a  bell-like  soprano,  so  that  they  made 
life  and  movement  in  the  house.  Peggy,  too,  fitted  into  her  olden 
place,  and  loved  Lucile  dearly.  It  would  have  pleased  the  rather 
bad-tempered  old  lady  had  Peggy  given  up  all  thought  of 
the  brother  who  had  so  displeased  her,  but  she  discovered  that 
although  Peggy  never  quarreled  or  displayed  vexation,  she  had 
both  mind  and  will  of  her  own — and  that  mind  and  will  were  set 


AUNT    HANNAH    AND    HER    RELATIVES.  17 

on  seeing  her  brother  when  she  or  he  desired  it,  and  in  writing 
.o  him  as  often  as  she  pleased. 

Had  Aunt  Hannah  shown  any  animosity,  Charlie's  sister 
would  probably  have  left  of  her  own  accord.  She  did  not,  how- 
ever, and  both  Peggy  and  Charlie  agreed  that  they  owed  her  a 
certain  debt,  which  Peggy  must  try  to  pay,  and  the  only  way  in 
which  she  could  pay  it  would  be  to  remain,  so  that  in  case  of 
necessity  she  might  be  at  hand  to  do  what  she  could  for  her.  All 
this  Charlie  and  she  argued  out  seriously,  in  spite  of  Leila's 
pleadings  to  have  Peggy  take  up  her  abode  with  them. 

"  I  can't  do  anything  for  her,"  said  Charlie,  gravely.  "  And 
yet  she  has  been  everything  to  us.  You  must,  Peg.  Just  as  soon 
as  she  doesn't  need  you,  why,  your  sister  Leila's  waiting  for  you 
with  open  arms.  How  do  you  know  how  Aunt  Mary  Tarrant  will 
try  to  treat  her  after  a  while  ?  " 

"  Lordy !  "  said  Leila.  "  I  think  I'm  rather  sorry  for  any 
one  who  tries  to  treat  Aunt  Hannah  in  any  way — " 

"  You  don't  understand  her,"  said  Charlie — he  had  seen  the 
old  lady's  natural  reserve  and  pride  give  way  before  the  affection 
she  entertained  for  him.  "  She'll  be  sore  about  me,"  he  said  to 
Peggy.  "  You  know.  Only  try  to  be  kind  to  her,  that's  all." 


18  MR.    TARRANT   ASSERTS   HIMSELF. 


CHAPTER    II. 

MR.    TARRANT  ASSERTS   HIMSELF. 

THAT  night  after  dinner  David  Tan-ant  drifted  into  the 
drawing-room  in  his  usual  slow  fashion,  and  set  out  the  checker- 
board upon  the  table,  also  as  usual.  Peggy  had  been  practising 
vigorously  all  afternoon,  and  now  sat  idly  touching  a  few  of  the 
keys,  with  a  lost  expression  on  her  fair  face.  Mrs.  Tarrant  had 
laid  aside  her  embroidery  and  was  working  at  some  fine  lace.  In 
fact,  it  was  another  trait  characteristic  of  Mrs.  Tarrant  never  to 
be  idle. 

"Where  is  Lucile?  Isn't  she  coming?  And  where  was  she 
during  dinner  ?  "  asked  the  father,  suddenly. 

There  was  silence.     Aunt  Hannah  looked  grim. 

"  She  had  dinner  in  her  room,"  said  Mrs.  Tarrant,  then. 

"  What  is  it — sulks  or  sickness  ?  Lady  Peggy,  can't  you  coax 
her  into  coming  down  ?  " 

Peggy  looked  at  her  Aunt  Hannah  and  said  nothing. 

"  She  acted  very  disagreeably  to-day,"  said  Mrs.  Tarrant. 
"  It  was  shameful.  I  told  her  to  go  to  her  room  and  stay  there 
until  she  apologized  to  her  aunt." 

"  What  did  she  do  ?  "  asked  David,  in  a  low  voice. 


MR.    TARRANT    ASSERTS    HIMSELF.  19 

"  It  doesn't  matter/'  said  Mrs.  Tarrant.  "  It  was  insufferable 
coming  from  a  girl  of  her  age  and  training." 

David  gathered  in  the  checkers  and  replaced  them  in  their 
box  without  a  word.  He  stood  up,  pushed  his  fingers  carelessly 
through  his  hair,  and  said  nothing.  He  put  his  hands  in  his 
trousers'  pockets  then,  and  looked  around.  He  bore  no  resem- 
blance to  Hannah  at  all — and  the  only  one  in  that  room  who 
might  have  passed  for  a  relative  of  his  would  be  little  Peggy,  with 
eyes  as  blue  and  child-like,  and  with  the  same  clearly-defined  ex- 
pression of  mildness.  Aunt  Hannah  moved  uneasily  as  he  stood 
ihere,  looking  from  her  to  his  wife,  and  then  to  Will,  lolling  care- 
lessly at  the  piano  beside  Peggy. 

"  I  was  speaking  to  Charlie  Stanton  this  afternoon,"  said 
David  Tarrant,  suddenly. 

Aunt  Hannah  was  scarcely  prepared  for  so  sudden  an  attack 
on  this  subject.  In  fact,  from  David,  this  sentence  took  her  un- 
awares. Mrs.  Tarrant  did  not  raise  her  head. 

"  I  saw  him ;  spoke  to  him ;  and  now,  Hannah,  I  want  to  speak 
to  you." 

"  Save  your  breath  if  you  expect  me  to  listen  to  any  message 
from  him." 

"  No.  He  sent  no  message.  He  doesn't  give  a  snap  of  his 
fingers  for  you ;  he  has  no  message  to  give  you,  although  he  asked 
if  you  were  well,  and  if  you  were  happy.  I  told  him,  Hannah, 
that  you  appeared  to  be  happy — but  that  you  were  succeeding  in 
utterly  destroying  the  peace  of  my  family.  That  may  help  to 


30  MR.    TARRANT   ASSERTS    HIMSELF. 

make  you  happy — or  else  there  is  another  reason  which  I  can  not 
fathom." 

Now  Hannah  Hubbold  dearly  loved  her  brother  David,  and 
thought  she  understood  him ;  but  if  he  had  thrown  a  bomb  at  her 
feet  she  could  not  have  been  more  astonished.  So  unassuming 
was  he,  and  so  self-effacing,  that  thus  to  have  herself  arraigned 
rather  startled  his  sister.  She  sat  straight,  as  if  galvanized.  Mrs. 
Tarrant  paused  in  her  stitching — an  almost  imperceptible  pause ; 
the  listless  expression  left  Will  Tarrant's  face,  and  Peggy's  eyes 
began  to  shine.  No  one  spoke,  however.  The  calm  voice  con- 
tinued : 

"  When  we  came  to  this  house  three  years  ago  I  was  a  very 
happy  man.  My  son,  instead  of  the  careless  do-nothing  he  is 
to-day,  at  least  had  the  manliness  to  earn  his  own  living;  my 
daughter  Lucile,  inheriting,  perhaps,  a  little  too  much  of  your 
temper,  my  dear  Hannah,  was  not  badgered  to  supply  amusement 
for  every  nonentity  in  the  town." 

His  eyes  were  glowing  now. 

"  My  wife  had  no  occasion  to  be  harsh  with  her  children.  Yes ; 
I  was  a  very  happy  man.  My  dear  Hannah,  I  intend  to  be- 
come happy  once  more.  I  bought  back  The  Laurels  from  Don 
Thorp  this  morning,  and  in  the  course  of  a  fortnight  or  so — as 
soon  as  it  can  be  got  into  some  order — we  shall  say  good-by  to 
you,  my  dear  sister,  in  so  far  as  living  in  the  same  house  with  you 
goes.  But  we  shall  always  be  glad  to  be  of  service  to  you  at  any 
time  you  need  us." 


MR.    TARRANT   ASSERTS    HIMSELF.  21 

And  with  an  air  of  indescribable  dignity  David  Tarrant,  with- 
out looking  at  any  one  in  the  room,  walked  out  of  it. 

Will  Tarrant  wore  a  blank  expression  indeed.  He  stared  at 
his  mother,  whose  face  expressed  neither  surprise  nor  annoyance. 

"  By  George !  "  he  said,  under  his  breath.  "  Here's  a  nice 
kettle  of  fish  !  " 

"  Did  you  put  him  up  to  this,  Mary  ?  "  It  was  Aunt  Hannah's 
harsh  voice  now. 

Mrs.  Tarrant  shook  her  head  slowly. 

"  I  have  not  seen  him  since  he  returned  this  evening.  I  was 
busy  before  dinner.  Perhaps —  " 

"  It  is  Lucile,  then,  the  little  upstart !  I  shall  punish  her  for 
this!  I  shall —  Not  a  penny  shall  one  of  you  have!  I'll  cut 
David  Tarrant's  name  out  altogether;  I'll —  The  man  is  crazy, 
woman,  the  man  is  crazy  !  Leave  me  alone  in  this  house,  with  only 
Peggy  and  the  servants  ?  I  won't  stand  it !  " 

"  If  David  says  so  you  know  we'll  have  to  do  it,"  said  Mrs.  Tar- 
rant, quietly. 

And  Aunt  Hannah,  sputter  as  she  might,  felt  that  she  had 
roused  an  antagonism  which  was  all  the  fiercer  for  its  rarity. 
She  did  no.t  know  what  to  say  to  express  her  feelings  at  this  ex- 
hibition, and  it  was  a  subdued  group,  and  one  entertaining  very 
disagreeable  sentiments  into  which  a  young  man  was  ushered 
some  ten  minutes  later.  He  was  a  well-built,  good-looking, 
frank-faced  fellow,  and  he  greeted  them  with  cheery  smiles. 

"  Hello !  "  he  said.     "  Do  I  intrude  on  family  privacy  ?  " 


22  MR.    TARRANT    ASSERTS    HIMSELF. 

"Always  welcome/'  said  Aunt  Hannah.  She  liked  Mrs. 
Dulcimer's  grandson  Teddy  Saunders,  and  he,  in  return,  was 
quite  fond  of  the  peppery  old  lady.  Or  perhaps  it  was  another 
attraction  that  brought  him  so  frequently.  At  any  rate  he 
looked  about  the  room  with  laughing  eyes. 

"  Where's  the  rest  ?  "  he  asked.  "  The  checker  king  is  miss- 
ing and — Miss  Lucile." 

"  Mary,  will  you  ask  Lucile  to  come  down  for  the  evening  ?  " 

It  was  Aunt  Hannah  who  spoke — without  turning  her  face  in 
Mary  Tarrant's  direction.  The  latter  immediately  rose,  how- 
ever, placed  her  lace  work  on  the  chair,  and  left  the  room. 

What  she  said  to  her  husband  and  her  daughter  could  not  be 
surmised,  but  in  a  few  moments  she  returned  with  both  of  them, 
Lucile  all  smiling  courtesy  to  the  masculine  visitor,  who  became 
absorbed  in  her  immediately  to  the  exclusion  of  every  one  else  in 
the  room.  David  sat  down  in  his  old  place  and  set  out  the  check- 
ers as  formally  as  before,  and  after  a  while,  when  he  had  them  all 
arranged,  he  pushed  the  board  over  in  his  sister's  direction. 

"  Will  you  move  first  ?  "  he  asked. 

Thus  was  apparent  harmony  restored.  Peggy  showed  only 
listless  interest  in  Will  Tarrant's  conversation,  and  he  was  too 
strongly  disturbed  by  his  father's  sweeping  declaration  before  them 
all  that  night  to  try  to  engage  her  whole  attention.  After  a 
while  both  lapsed  into  silence.  Peggy  was  thinking  of  her  brother 
as  she  sat  there,  her  fair  little  forehead  wrinkled  with  lines  of 
thought — of  her  brother,  and  pale-faced  Leila,  and  dear  little 


MR.    TARRANT    ASSERTS    HIMSELF.  28 

David.  How  much  good  she  could  do  in  that  household  where  all 
loved  her,  and  how  little  good  she  was  here,  where  Aunt  Hannah 
had  everything  she  wanted  and  did  not  need  her. 

"  And  there  I  could  practise  my  religion  without  hindrance/' 
she  mused,  a  little  sigh  parting  her  lips.  Then  followed  the 
thought :  "  What  will  Aunt  Hannah  say  when  she  hears  I've  been  a 
Catholic  three  years — long  before  Charlie  thought  of  it?  And 
what  will  Aunt  Mary  Tarrant  say  if  she  sends  for  him  ?  But  would 
he  come  ?  I  know  one  thing — he  won't  touch  her  money  if  he  does 
come.  Isn't  it  a  comfort  to  have  such  a  brother?  Isn't  it  a 
comfort?" 

She  became  aware  at  last  that  she  was  staring  straight  at  Mrs. 
Tarrant's  face,  and  that  Mrs.  Tarrant's  eyes  were  looking  into  hers. 
The  young  girl  did  not  like  their  expression,  but  it  was  only  a 
moment  before  the  lids  covered  them.  Peggy  shivered.  She 
wondered  if  her  Aunt  Mary  disliked  her.  And  then  she  heard 
Lucile's  voice  and  her  laugh,  and  the  worried  lines  left  her  fore- 
head, for  Lucile's  laugh  was  infectious. 

"  Come  over  here,  you  little  pigeon,"  said  Lucile.  "  Come 
over  here,  and  let  that  swain  beside  you  get  back  the  use  of  his 
tongue.  What  have  you  done  to  him  to-night,  Peggy  ?  " 

"  If  I  had  done  anything  he  would  not  be  sitting  there — like 
that,"  said  Peggy,  in  her  demure  fashion.  "  He  is  off  in  dream- 
land somewhere." 

"  What,  with  fairyland  beside  him  ?  "  asked  Teddy  Saunders, 
in  a  rollicking  tone. 


34  MR.    TARRANT   ASSERTS    HIMSELF. 

"  And  why  not  ?  He's  grown  up  now,"  said  Peggy.  "  Only 
children  are  permitted  to  enter  fairyland." 

"  I  think  there's  more  truth  than  fiction  in  those  words,"  said 
Lucile,  carelessly.  She  patted  Peggy's  hand.  "  I  often  wonder 
what  she  hides  under  that  curly  thatch  of  hers;  and  what  pretty 
thoughts  are  locked  up  behind  her  lips.  I'm  afraid  no  one  under- 
stands our  Lady  Peggy." 

Peggy  laughed  brightly. 

"  That  is  it,  Teddy.  There  is  nothing  to  understand,  nothing 
to  conceal,  and  because  I  keep  my  poor,  vain  little  thoughts  to  my 
own  poor,  vain  little  self,  I  am  accounted  wise." 

"  Unfortunately,"  said  Teddy  Saunders,  "  I  must  agree  with 
Lucile." 

"  Not  unfortunately — you  mean  naturally,"  said  Peggy,  with 
a  soft  color  in  her  cheeks.  "  If  you  were  to  disagree  with  Lucile 
I  would  think  the  end  of  the  world  was  coming." 

"  Well !  That's  a  nice  reputation  to  give  a  fellow !  But  wait, 
Peggy,  before  I  forget  it — Charlie  was  around  to  my  house  this 
afternoon.  He  wants  you  to  go  to  Leila  in  the  morning.  Say, 
Leila's  pretty  sick,  isn't  she  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no;  surely  not !  I  was  there  day  before  yesterday  and 
she  seemed  quite  bright  and  happy." 

"  Charlie's  just  full  of  her.  I  wish  the  old  lady  would  be 
reconciled  before  anything  happens.  He'll  never  forgive  her  if 
Leila  dies,  never." 

"  You  can't  blame  him,"  said  Peggy,  with  spirit.     "  Leila's 


MR.    TARRANT    ASSERTS    HIMSELF.  25 

the  only  one  in  the  world  for  Charlie,  and  I  don't  see  how  he  can 
help  it.  What's  more,  he  doesn't  want  Aunt  Hannah  or  her 
money,  either — " 

A  servant  appeared  in  the  doorway.  He  had  a  note  on  a  tray, 
and  as  he  looked  around  the  room,  Aunt  Hannah,  with  a  finger  on 
a  checker,  spied  him. 

"What  is  it,  Clarke?" 

"  A  letter  for  Miss  Peggy,  madam." 

"  Miss  Peggy — " 

But  Peggy  was  across  the  room  and  had  torn  the  note  open, 
and  was  reading  the  few  lines  it  contained.  She  grew  very  pale, 
pressed  her  lips  together,  and  stood  as  if  trying  to  control  her 
emotion. 

"  What  is  it,  Peggy  ?  "  asked  Aunt  Hannah,  solicitously.  The 
others  rose  at  once  and  crowded  about  her,  but  she  put  them  aside, 
and  laid  the  note  before  her  aunt. 

"  Little  David  dead.     Come  at  once  to  Leila." 

It  was  unsigned,  but  all  knew  from  whom  it  came.  Mr.  Tar- 
rant  stood  as  if  turned  to  stone;  even  Mrs.  Tarrant's  face  lost  its 
usual  calm.  The  others  expressed  the  deepest  horror. 

"  David  !  David,  the  child !  How  horrible  !  "  said  Mr.  Tar- 
rant.  "  Why,  I  saw  the  little  fellow,  had  him  in  my  arms  this  very 
day !  He  was  laughing  and  chatting —  Pshaw !  It  can't  be 
true,"  burst  from  the  man's  lips. 

"  David  !  "  exclaimed  Teddy  Saunders.  "  Oh,  the  poor  fellow, 
the  poor  fellow !  " 


26  MR.    TARRANT   ASSERTS   HIMSELF. 

Aunt  Hannah's  face  was  gray ;  her  lips  were  trembling.  Peggy 
walked  toward  the  door,  but  the  old  lady's  voice  quavered  after 
her: 

"  I'm  going  with  you,  Peggy,"  she  said.  But  Peggy  did  not 
heed. 

"  Tell  Polly  to  bring  my  heavy  shawls,  and  get  the  carriage 
ready,"  she  said  then  to  Lucile  and  Will,  and  both  hurried  to  obey 
her,  very  much  shocked  at  this  terrible  news.  Poor  Mr.  Tarrant 
seemed  the  most  affected  of  all.  He  could  hardly  stir  now  from 
his  seat.  His  face  looked  ashen,  as  he  kept  repeating  over  and 
over: 

"  The  poor  little  chap !  Oh,  the  poor,  poor  little  baby !  How 
in  the  world  could  it  have  happened?  " 


THE   RECONCILIATION.  27 


CHAPTEE   III. 

THE   RECONCILIATION. 

LEILA  STANTON  had  lain  with  white  face  on  her  pillow  ever 
since  she  had  looked  upon  David's  lifeless  little  body.  Five  min- 
utes before  he  stood  laughing  up  into  her  face  with  his  loving  baby 
eyes.  Then  he  had  run  away  from  her.  It  was  presumed  that 
he  dropped  the  ball  with  which  he  was  playing,  and  in  trying  to 
recover  it,  lost  his  balance  and  pitched  through  the  opening  be- 
tween the  banisters,  striking  the  floor  below  head  foremost.  The 
young  mother,  thinking  that  he  had  merely  toddled  into  the  ad- 
joining room  to  the  nurse,  paid  no  attention  to  the  excitement 
which  seemed  to  fill  the  lower  hall  a  few  moments  later,  until  she 
heard  a  loud  wail  from  their  one  domestic,  and  looked  up  at  the 
nurse  with  rather  startled  eyes. 

"  I  think  that's  Maggie,"  she  said.  "  Is  David  in  there  with 
you?" 

"  No — I  have  not  seen  him." 

"  But  I  am  sure  he  went  in  there,"  persisted  the  mother.  "  Do 
look  again,  Miss  Day — or  see  what  is  the  matter  with  that  girl — " 

Miss  Day  opened  the  door  at  once,  and  went  down  to  where 


28  THE   RECONCILIATION. 

Maggie  was  seated  on  the  floor,  rubbing  the  child's  limbs  and 
moaning  over  him  in  a  distraught  manner. 

"  Good  heavens !  "  she  said.     "  How  has  this  happened  ?  " 

Maggie  did  not  know.  She  had  heard  the  crash  and  came  out 
to  find  the  baby  in  a  little  heap  on  the  floor.  The  grocer's  boy  had 
run  for  the  doctor — 

"  No  need  to  rub  his  limbs  like  that,"  said  Miss  Day,  in  a 
hushed  voice.  "  The  child  is  dead." 

Looking  up  then,  she  saw  Leila's  white  face  peering  at  her 
from  the  top  of  the  landing.  She  started  toward  her. 

"  Don't  come  down,  dear,"  she  said,  "  don't  come  down." 

"  Bring  him  to  me,  then,"  said  Leila  Stanton.  "  Bring  my 
boy  to  me." 

There  was  a  terrible  scene.  At  first  Miss  Day  tried  to  keep 
the  worst  of  it  away  from  her — but  nothing  could.  Some  one 
found  Charlie  Stanton,  and  when  he  entered  his  wife's  room,  she 
threw  herself  on  her  knees. 

"  Charlie,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper,  "  they  will  not  let  me  see 
him — they  will  not.  Make  them  let  me  see  him,  Charlie." 

The  half-crazed  light  in  her  eyes  frightened  him.  He  lifted 
her  in  his  arms,  and  carried  her  into  the  next  room,  where  the 
little  fellow  lay  upon  the  couch  as  if  asleep,  not  a  mark  upon  him 
save  a  slight  bruise  on  the  temple.  Leila  said  nothing.  But  she 
stooped  over  and  kissed  the  little  cold  face  and  lips.  Then,  turn- 
ing, she  looked  up  into  Charlie's  face.  He  knew  what  those  eyes 
so  mutely  implored. 


THE   RECONCILIATION.  29 

"Leila,  darling,"  he  said,  his  soul  shaken  to  its  very  depths. 
"  Oh,  Leila,  no.  Do  not  leave  me  yet,  dear — I  am  not  able  to 
bear  it  or  to  spare  you.  Leila,  Leila,  ask  God  to  leave  you  to  me 
just  a  little  while." 

She  sighed  and  shook  her  head  and  did  not  remonstrate  when 
he  carried  her  out  again  and  laid  her  upon  the  pillows.  The 
doctor  who  had  been  called,  uselessly  for  the  child's  sake,  looked 
grave  at  sight  of  the  mother.  Charlie  Stanton,  after  sending  for 
Peggy,  sat  beside  his  wife,  holding  her  hands  in  his,  calling  her 
name  tenderly,  smoothing  the  hair  back  from  her  temples. 
Neither  word  nor  touch  moved  her.  She  simply  lay  like  one  who 
had  received  a  death-wound.  The  priest  who  had  been  her  con- 
fessor for  years  entered  the  room,  and  Charlie  gave  up  his  place 
to  him.  There  were  tears  in  the  pastor's  eyes  when  he  came  out 
again. 

"  Try  to  resign  yourself,  Charlie,"  he  said.  "  I'm  afraid  she 
will  not  last  much — " 

"  No,"  said  Charlie  Stanton,  between  his  teeth.  "  I  won't  let 
her  go.  I  will  not  let  her  go,  I  tell  you,  Father.  She  is  all  I 
have  left  now,  and  I  will  not  let  her  go." 

The  priest  knew  that  this  was  the  first  rebellious  outpouring 
of  the  sorely-tried  nature,  and  he  tried  to  soothe  and  comfort  him. 
His  words  might  bear  fruit  later  on,  but  now  in  the  despair  of 
those  terrible  first  hours  the  man  could  not  contain  his  grief.  And 
yet  he  had  to  contain  it  for  the  sake  of  that  poor,  white-faced, 
young  soul  praying  for  death  in  the  inner  room. 


30  THE   RECONCILIATION. 

When  Peggy  came  she  found  them  so — Leila  lying  with  her 
pale,  impassive  countenance  on  the  pillow,  her  husband  sitting 
beside  her,  clasping  her  hands,  his  eyes  resting  imploringly  upon 
her.  He  gave  place  to  Peggy  at  once,  and  the  girl  put  both  her 
arms  about  her  brother's  wife,  whispering  gentle  words  of  com- 
fort that  the  latter  neither  heard  nor  heeded. 

Charlie  Stanton  went  out  of  the  room,  leaving  his  wife  and 
sister  together. 

Aunt  Hannah  was  standing  beside  the  child,  whom  Miss  Day 
had  dressed  and  laid  out  in  his  last  sleep.  The  little  body  was 
almost  covered  with  roses,  and  their  odor  was  heavy  in  the  air. 
The  grim  old  lady  looked  up  from  the  beautiful  baby-face  and 
met  her  nephew's  eyes.  He  was  so  changed.  The  years  had  made 
him  a  little  older,  but  the  last  hours  had  aged  him  more  than  any 
years  could  have  done.  His  face  was  drawn,  his  eyes  sunken. 
Aunt  Hannah,  leaning  on  her  stick,  forgot  that  she  had  banished 
him  with  bitter  words.  She  only  remembered  that  he  was  her 
darling ;  that,  no  matter  how  she  tried  to  tell  herself  that  she  had 
forgotten  him,  he  still  had  possession  of  her  heart. 

"  Charlie !  "  she  said,  in  tones  of  deepest  feeling.  "  Charlie, 
my  own  poor  boy." 

She  had  been  gentle  to  him  always,  until  those  last  few  months 
of  opposition  made  her  hard  and  cruel.  The  loving  remembrance 
he  had  of  her  rose  up  within  him  at  the  tremor  in  her  voice.  He 
went  to  her  side  at  once,  and  put  his  arms  about  her,  and  blessed 
tears  come  to  his  eyes  and  fell  on  her  gray  head  and  on  her  lined 


THE    RECONCILIATION.  31 

forehead.  She,  too,  was  crying,  clasping  him  and  leaning  against 
him,  all  the  barriers  of  pride  broken  down. 

"  My  poor  boy !  "  she  said.  "  My  poor  boy !  Oh,  Charlie,  oh, 
my  poor  boy ! " 

After  a  while  they  became  calmer.  She  sat  down  on  the  sofa, 
and  in  brief  and  broken  words  he  told  her  how  the  terrible  thing 
had  happened.  But  he  did  not  speak  of  Leila,  although  they 
could  hear  Peggy's  low  murmuring  speech  from  the  other  room. 

"  They  told  me — "  Aunt  Hannah  averted  her  head,  " — they 
told  me  that  your  wife  is  not  well." 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  she  is  not  well.  And  this,"  he  added, 
"  this  will  kill  her." 

"  Don't  say  that,  Charlie.  She  must  feel  it  frightfully,  of 
course,  but  it  will  wear  away.  I  don't  want  you  to  think  me  hard- 
hearted, though  I've  shown  a  great  deal  of  it  to  you,  but  if  I  were 
you  I  would  just  get  the  little  fellow  buried  quietly  and  not  allow 
her  to  see  him  again.  It  will  only  make  matters  worse.  Bury 
him  to-morrow — and  then  take  her  away  from  these  surroundings 
at  once.  It  is  the  only  thing  you  can  do  for  her.  Take  her 
away." 

"  I  will,  aunt ;  I  must — if  she  lives  long  enough,"  he  said.  "  I 
shall  tell  Miss  Day,  and  have  her  come  with  us — " 

"  I  wouldn't,"  said  Aunt  Hannah,  and  had  her  nephew  been 
less  sorrowful  he  would  have  smiled  at  the  quick  determination  of 
the  tone  he  knew  of  old.  "  Take  Peggy.  I'll  hate  to  spare  her,  but 
you  can  have  her  for  a  while  if  you  promise  to  return  her  to  me." 


82  THE    RECONCILIATION. 

So  little  David  Tarrant  Stanton  was  buried  the  following  day, 
and  the  next  morning  Peggy,  Charlie,  and  Leila  were  speeding 
northward  to  the  region  of  the  pines.  The  mother  obeyed  her 
husband  with  a  docility  that  was  touching,  which  showed  how 
little  she  realized  the  bereavement  she  had  just  endured.  Her 
brain  was,  mercifully,  steeped  in  forgetfulness.  She  did  not  ask 
for  her  child — only  that  her  eyes  would  cling  beseechingly  to  her 
husband's  face,  and  day  and  night  he  could  not  leave  her. 

In  view  of  this  giving  up  of  Peggy,  David  Tarrant  could  not 
think  of  broaching  the  subject  of  their  departure  to  Aunt  Hannah, 
and,  indeed,  it  seemed  from  that  night  a  different  spirit  entered  the 
house.  Lucile  was  more  gentle  in  her  manner,  and  Aunt  Hannah, 
softcm  1  by  her  reconciliation  to  the  cherished  idol  of  her  heart, 
was  more  amenable  of  speech.  Will,  a  little  ashamed  of  the  neg- 
ligence for  which  his  father  had  so  forcibly  shown  his  contempt, 
went  to  the  mills  every  day.  David  Tarrant  was  agreeable  and 
genial  and  easy-going  as  of  old,  and  altogether  things  were  run- 
ning quite  smoothly  when  an  unforeseen  event  occurred. 

At  breakfast  one  morning  the  sturdy  old  lady  did  not  put  in 
an  appearance.  Mrs.  Tarrant  went  to  her  room  to  ascertain  what 
was  the  matter,  and  found  her  lying,  partly  dressed,  across  her 
bed,  gasping  for  breath,  her  face  purple.  She  was  subject  to  at- 
tacks of  this  description,  and  Mrs.  Tarrant  knew  just  what  to  do 
for  her.  With  the  assistance  of  her  attendant  they  disrobed  her 
and  applied  the  usual  remedies. 

But  the  day  wore  on  and  Aunt  Hannah  did  not  grow  any  bet- 


THE   RECONCILIATION.  33 

ter.  The  doctor  spoke  about  a  consultation.  The  next  morn- 
ing all  in  the  house  knew  that  Aunt  Hannah's  hours  were  num- 
bered. 

Mrs.  Tarrant  installed  herself  as  mistress  of  affairs — a  posi- 
tion easy  for  her  to  fill,  indeed,  and,  much  to  the  dissatisfaction  of 
the  older  servants,  began  to  rule  things  with  a  hand  which  was  not 
less  severe  because  it  was  so  quietly  efficient.  The  sentiments  of 
those  surrounding  her  had  very  little  weight  with  Mrs.  Tarrant. 

And  yet  no  exceptions  could  be  taken  to  her  in  the  sick  room, 
and  the  doctor  congratulated  her  on  her  ability  as  a  nurse.  Soft- 
voiced  and  softly  shod,  always  self-possessed,  always  prepared,  she, 
in  addition,  was  seemingly  tireless.  There  were  powders  to  be 
administered  every  hour,  and  medicines,  and  Dr.  Spencer  knew  he 
could  rely  upon  her. 

It  was  at  the  close  of  the  fourth  day  of  the  old  lady's  illness 
that  Mrs.  Tarrant,  sitting  beside  the  bed,  heard  a  change  in  the 
guttural  breathing.  She  arose  and  bent  over  her.  Aunt  Han- 
nah's eyes  were  wide  open,  and  her  lips  moving.  After  a  little 
speech  came  from  them. 

"  How  long  have  I  been  sick  ?  " 

"Four  days." 

"Four  days?    Who  has  attended  me?" 

«Dr.  Spencer." 

The  old  lady  turned  restlessly.  Her  head  rolled  from  side  to 
side. 

"  Get  me  paper,"  she  said.     "  Get  me  paper." 


84  THE   RECONCILIATION. 

Mrs.  Tarrant  rose  at  once,  bringing  paper  and  pen  to  the  bed- 
side. 

"  Write  the  date/'  said  Aunt  Hannah. 

Mary  Tarrant  did  so,  and  waited. 

"  I  bequeath  unreservedly  to  my  beloved  niece  and  nephew 
Charles  and  Margaret  Stanton,  the  whole  of  my  personal  property, 
including  the  Hubbold  Mills.  To  my  brother  David,  $10,000;  to 
his  wife,  Mary,  $5,000;  to  Lucile  Tarrant,  $5,000;  to  William 
Tarrant,  $5,000;  the  legacies  to  my  servants  to  remain  as  in  the 
will  to  which  this  is  an  amendment." 

Word  for  word  Mary  Tarrant  wrote,  and  then,  without  a  change 
of  countenance,  held  the  old  lady  up  in  bed  until  she  signed  it, 
with  the  decision  that  had  been  part  of  her  in  life  and  remained 
with  her  during  her  last  hours. 

"  Now  send  for  Lawyer  Degnan — in  case  he  doesn't  get  here 
in  time  that's  settled.  Give  me  the  paper." 

She  folded  it  and  put  it  under  her  pillow.  Mary  Tarrant 
went  out  of  the  room  and  down  into  the  servants'  hall.  She 
merely  glanced  about  her  and  came  up  again.  One  of  the  serv- 
ants, Peter  Morrow,  had  been  dispatched,  some  half  hour  pre- 
viously, with  a  message  to  Mr.  Tarrant  at  the  mills.  Mrs.  Tar- 
rant returned  again  to  Aunt  Hannah's  room. 

"  You  have  sent  for  him  ?  "  asked  Aunt  Hannah. 
'       "Yes." 

"Who  went?" 

"  Peter." 


THE    RECONCILIATION.  35 

"  Peter — he  should  be  back  in  less  than  a  half-hour.  I  don't 
want  to  die  without  attending  to  that  properly.  Perhaps  you'd 
better  call  some  of  the  servants  and  let  them  witness — " 

"  I  wouldn't  do  that,"  said  Mrs.  Tarrant,  soothingly.  "  You 
know  how  they'll  talk.  You're  not  dying.  This  weak  spell  will 
pass  off." 

In  spite  of  herself  a  gleam  of  hope  shot  into  Aunt  Hannah's 
eyes.  With  the  longing  for  life  inherent  in  each  one  of  us,  she 
grasped  at  a  straw. 

"  You  think  so  ?  "  eagerly. 

"  Dr.  Spencer  said  you'd  be  very  weak — but  not  to  be  alarmed ; 
it  was  only  natural.  Degnan  will  be  here  soon.  Wait  for  this 
matter  until  he  comes." 

She  watched  the  curious  twitching  of  the  old  lady's  lips,  the 
peculiar  color  of  the  face ;  she  knew  that  Aunt  Hannah  was  dying 
— and  she  looked  at  the  clock,  wondering  how  long  she  would  last. 

A  few  minutes  later  Aunt  Hannah  struggled  up  in  bed. 

"  Polly !  "  she  called  in  a  loud  voice. 

"  Yes,  ma'am."  Polly's  face  appeared  at  the  door  of  the  in- 
side room. 

"  Has  Peter  come  back  ?    Go  down  and  see  if  Peter — " 

Polly  ran  down  the  stairs  quickly.  When  she  returned  to  tell 
her  mistress  that  Peter  had  just  arrived,  Mrs.  Tarrant  was  quietly 
closing  the  dead  woman's  eyes,  and  folding  her  hands  one  above 
the  other.  She  looked  up  as  Polly  entered  the  room,  and  her  face 
was  very  pale. 


36  THE   RECONCILIATION. 

"  Has  Mr.  Tarrant  come  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  and  Peter — both  are  here." 

"  Tell  Mr.  Tarrant  to  come  up — your  mistress  is  dead,"  and 
then  she  added  in  a  peculiar  voice,  "  If  he  had  been  but  a  few 
moments  earlier !  What  a  pity — that  he  was  not  a  few  moments 
earlier ! " 


THE    WOMAN    REFUSES.  87 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE   WOMAN   REFUSES. 

HANNAH  HUBBOLD,  the  mistress  of  Hubbold  Hall  and  the 
owner  of  the  great  Hubbold  Mills,  was  laid  to  rest  beside  her  hus- 
band with  all  due  solemnity.  The  news  of  her  death  was  flashed  to 
the  Stantons  at  Lakewood,  but  Leila  was  in  too  precarious  a  condi- 
tion for  either  her  husband  or  his  sister  to  leave  her.  Since  Aunt 
Hannah  was  dead  they  deemed  their  presence  with  the  one  who 
needed  them  more  imperative  a  duty  than  would  be  the  attendance 
at  the  funeral  of  one  beyond  their  aid. 

After  her  interment  came  the  reading  of  her  will :  a  document 
which  showed  the  spirit  of  the  grim  old  woman  who  had  caused  it 
to  be  drawn  up  in  the  first  and  worst  of  her  bitter  anger  against 
her  nephew,  Charles  Stanton.  David  Tarrant  inherited  the  bulk 
of  her  fortune,  including  the  Hubbold  Mills.  Margaret  Stanton 
was  left  $50,000  on  condition  of  her  never  becoming  a  Roman 
Catholic — in  event  of  which,  the  money  was  to  revert  unqualifiedly 
to  David  Tarrant  and  his  family.  All  the  servants  were  remem- 
bered— but  Charlie  Stanton's  name  was  not  mentioned. 

With  much  distress  Mr.  Tarrant  heard  this  will  read.  Honest 
and  open  as  the  day,  he  had  hoped  for  much  from  Aunt  Hannah's 


88  THE    WOMAN    REFUSES. 

reconciliation  with  their  nephew,  and  he  sincerely  regretted  the 
unlucky  chance  that  had  stricken  her  so  suddenly. 

"  It  is  a  shame,"  he  said.  "  She  would  have  altered  this  will 
had  she  realized  how  close  to  death  she  was." 

"  I  know  that  she  wanted  me  to  send  Peter  for  Lawyer  Deg- 
nan,"  said  Mrs.  Tarrant,  "  but  she  died  right  after  making  the 
request.  You'll  give  Charlie  a  few  thousands,  David  ?  " 

"  I'll  give  Charlie  what  belongs  to  him — the  Hubbold  Mills," 
said  David  Tarrant. 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  play  battledore  and  shuttlecock  with  a 
piece  of  property  like  that  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Tarrant  in  a  strangely 
quiet  voice.  "  I  don't  know  what  sort  of  a  Don  Quixote  you  are, 
or  are  trying  to  be — but  the  mills  are  yours  and  you're  going  to 
keep  them." 

And  David  Tarrant  knew  that  he  would,  too,  when  she  spoke  in 
that  fashion. 

The  news  of  her  legacy  and  the  condition  on  which  she  was  to 
inherit  it  brought  an  indignant  note  from  Peggy  Stanton,  de- 
claring her  religion,  and  saying  that  she  wanted  to  have  nothing 
to  do  with  Aunt  Hannah's  money.  Mr.  Tarrant  grew  all  the  more 
gloomy.  While  Hannah  was  there  to  direct  matters  with  her 
superior  strength  of  will  he  had  been  happy  in  his  work.  But  now 
the  feeling  that  he  was  working  for  himself,  earning  money  that 
he  would  never  enjoy,  seemed  to  take  the  heart  out  of  his  dally 
toil.  The  feeling,  too,  that  Hannah  would  surely  have  changed 
her  will,  had  she  had  the  time,  preyed  upon  him.  Besides  that 


THE    WOMAN   REFUSES.  39 

Will  Tarrant  relapsed  once  more  into  his  careless  habits,  and  the 
father  realized  that  this  time  he  could  not  lift  him  out  of  them. 
He  wrote  to  Charlie  himself — a  touching  letter,  begging  him  to 
some  back  as  soon  as  Leila's  health  permitted  it,  and  to  join  him 
as  his  assistant.  Charlie  answering,  faithfully  promised  that  he 
would,  and  meant  to  keep  his  word.  Lucile  was  the  father's  only 
comfort.  The  days  of  dissatisfaction  following  upon  Aunt  Han- 
nah's death  seemed  to  draw  them  together.  He  could  talk  over  all 
that  annoyed  him  with  her.  She  partly  comprehended  his  senti- 
ments and  sympathized  with  him. 

There  was  a  great  change  noticeable,  too,  in  Mrs.  Tarrant. 
Always  cold  and  reserved,  she  seemed  to  draw  further  into  herself, 
avoiding  intercourse  either  with  her  husband  or  Lucile.  One  by 
one,  too,  she  began  to  discharge  the  old  servants  at  the  Hall,  filling 
their  places  with  people  brought  from  a  distance.  She  had  reno- 
vators and  builders  take  charge,  and  in  the  course  of  six  months, 
so  eagerly  did  she  spur  them  on,  the  Hall  was  almost  entirely 
changed  to  suit  the  whims  of  the  new  mistress.  Altering  this 
and  changing  that,  and  always  poring  over  plans  and  schemes  of 
decoration  until,  after  remonstrating  in  vain,  David  Tarrant  took 
refuge  as  usual  with  Lucile. 

"  I  don't  know  what's  come  to  your  mother,"  he  said,  despair- 
ingly. "  She  seems  an  entirely  different  woman.  And  look  what 
she's  doing  to  the  Hall !  Hannah  would  turn  in  her  grave  if  she 
knew/' 

"  Well,  she  doesn't  know,"  said  Lucile.    "  And  as  for  the  Hall, 


40  THE    WOMAN   REFUSES. 

it's  new  to  mother,  and  I  wouldn't  worry  so  long  as  she  lets  us 
alone.  She'll  get  tired  after  a  while,  father." 

"  But  my  dear,  she's  wearing  to  nothing.  Have  you  noticed 
how  thin  she's  getting?" 

"As  soon  as  she  has  fixed  the  place  up  to  her  satisfaction 
perhaps  she'll  go  away  for  a  few  weeks,"  said  Lucile. 

She  would  not  tell  her  father  that  she  had  noticed  more  than 
the  increasing  emaciation  which  he  deplored.  She  had  noticed 
that  her  mother  was  only  satisfied  when  throwing  herself  heart 
and  soul  into  some  work  that  took  up  all  her  attention;  that  she 
was  subject  to  fits  of  extreme  degression ;  and  that  she  would  sit  for 
hours  staring  into  vacancy  until  called  upon  to  decide  some  point 
in  the  changes  she  was  bringing  about.  Lucile  watched  her  with 
growing  uneasiness,  but  she  thought  it  better  to  say  nothing.  She 
wondered  what  Mrs.  Tarrant  would  do  when  necessity  for  action 
was  removed.  Would  she  indeed  go  away  as  she  had  told  her 
father — and  if  she  would  not — 

Her  worst  fears  were  realized.  With  the  departure  of  the  last 
decorator  from  Hubbold  Hall  the  busy,  tireless  woman  fell  into  a 
state  of  positive  inertia,  of  settled  melancholy.  Dr.  Spencer  ad- 
vised change  of  scene  at  Mr.  Tarrant's  earnest  solicitation.  But 
Mrs.  Tarrant  merely  declined,  in  her  curt  fashion,  to  go  away, 
and  after  a  short  while  kept  mostly  to  her  own  apartments.  Or 
if  by  chance  she  left  them,  she  endeavored  to  avoid  Lucile,  seem- 
ing to  have  taken  a  great  dislike  to  her.  In  the  evening  Mr.  Tar- 
rant would  go  up  to  her  room  and  sit  with  her;  and  often  Will 


THE    WOMAN    REFUSES.  41 

would  drop  in  and  try  to  talk  over  some  topic  he  thought  might 
interest  her.  Lucile  was  left  to  her  own  devices. 

One  night,  however,  Mr.  Tarrant  found  his  wife  brighter  than 
he  had  ever  seen  her — more  like  herself  than  she  had  been  in  days. 

"  You  are  feeling  better  ?  "  he  inquired,  much  pleased  at  the 
interest  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  am  not  ill,"  she  answered.  "  I  have  not  been  ill  at  all, 
and  do  not  intend  to  be  ill.  I  have  a  letter  here  from  Teddy 
Saunders.  He  wants  to  marry  Lucile." 

"Wants  to  marry  Lucile?  And  does  Lucile  want  to  marry 
him?" 

"  I  don't  know — it's  hardly  necessary  to  ask  her.  The  letter  is 
to  you  as  well  as  to  me."  She  tossed  it  to  him  as  she  spoke. 
"  Tell  her  I  said  she  should  marry  him/' 

Mr.  Tarrant  looked  at  her  with  utmost  consternation  on  his 
face. 

"  Tell  her  to  marry  him !     Mary,  I  believe  you've  gone  daft.'' 

Mrs.  Tarrant  made  a  careless  gesture. 

"  Either  marry  her  to  some  one  or  send  her  away.  She  grates 
on  my  nerves.  I  wish  she  would  marry  Saunders.  He's  good 
enough,  David,  and  the  girl  is  too  headstrong  now.  If  she 
marries  she  will  probably  lose  that  stubborn  temper." 

Mr.  Tarrant  could  scarcely  believe  his  ears.  She  spoke  too 
rationally  to  suppose  madness,  and  he  knew  that  she  had  always 
inveighed  against  her  daughter's  utter  lack  of  discipline.  But  to 
think  of  marrying  Lucile  to  a  young  man  she  was  not  disposed  to 


42  THE    WOMAN    REFUSES. 

marry  was  so  utterly  foolish  that  had  any  one  but  Lucile's  mother 
proposed  it,  her  father  would  have  enjoyed  it  as  a  rich  joke. 

"  My  dear  Mary,"  he  said,  very  gently,  "  you  know  Lucile. 
If  she  doesn't  care  for  Teddy  Saunders,  as  good  a  fellow  as  he  is, 
she  won't  have  him.  I  think  a  hundred  per  cent,  more  of  him 
because  he  has  written  to  us  first — I'll  write  back  and  tell  him  to 
try  his  luck  in  person — and  wish  him  good  luck,  too.  He's  a  nice 
chap." 

So  Teddy  Saunders  was  elated  to  receive  a  thoroughly  busi- 
ness-like epistle  from  David  Tarrant  himself  the  following  morn- 
ing; and  later  in  the  day  he  came  driving  to  the  Hall  behind  a 
handsome,  high -stepping  black  horse.  Lucile,  delighted  to  escape 
a  monotony  which  was  daily  becoming  more  depressing,  gladly 
consented  to  go  with  him,  and  Mrs.  Tarrant  watched  them  drive 
away  together  with  something  like  satisfaction  on  her  face. 

Teddy  Saunders  had  always  liked  Lucile  Tarrant,  and  the  lik- 
ing of  boyhood's  days  had  grown  into  the  affection  of  manhood. 
He  had  never  thought  of  any  one  else,  Lucile  having  been  so  long  a 
settled  idea  with  him.  He  thought  that  the  girl  so  considered  it 
as  well,  and  it  was  with  rather  more  of  confidence  than  might  be 
expected  that  he  broached  the  subject  to  her. 

"  I  haven't  as  much  to  offer  you  as  you  have  now,  Lucile,"  he 
said,  frankly,  "  but  I  know  well  enough  that  that  will  not  count 
with  you.  I  can  make  you  comfortable  and  I  can  make  you  happy 
— if  a  man's  honest,  earnest  devotion  can  make  a  girl  happy.  I 
want  you  to  marry  me,  Lucile." 


THE    WOMAN    REFUSES.  48 

She  liked  him  then  for  the  honest  directness  of  his  speech,  for 
the  honesty  of  his  face  and  his  eyes.  But  she  shook  her  head  and 
smiled,  half-sadly. 

"  Teddy,  dear,  we  can  be  earnest  friends — devoted  in  that  way 
if  you  wish.  But  as  husband  and  wife  we  would  be  rank  failures." 

He  looked  at  her  as  if  he  scarcely  comprehended  her ;  a  slightly 
puzzled  expression  on  his  face. 

"  Why,  Lucile,  you  mustn't  make  prophecies  of  that  sort — we 
are  certain  to  get  along  excellently  well." 

"  I  can  assure  you  that  we  are,  Teddy,  because  I  do  not  intend 
to  marry  you." 

She  smiled  so  sweetly  at  him  as  she  spoke  that  still  he  did  not 
understand. 

"  And  why  not,  Lucile  ?  "  with  a  laugh.  "  You  have  to  give 
me  your  reasons." 

"  There's  only  one,  Teddy.     I  don't  love  you." 

"That  depends  on  what  you  call  love,  Lucile.  I'll  be  satis- 
fied with  what  you  can  give  me.  I  like  quiet  affection  the  best, 
myself.  I  think  two  people  can  get  along  very  well  on  it." 

Lucile  smiled  into  his  eyes. 

"  I  give  you  credit  for  thinking  you  speak  the  truth,  Ted. 
Our  affection  is  more  of  the  sister  and  brother  kind.  You  don't 
love  me — I  wouldn't  be  satisfied  with  the  love  you  can  give  me. 
And  if,  at  first,  you'd  be  satisfied  with  what  I  could  give  you,  in 
the  end  you  would  be  disappointed.  So  should  I,  Ted.  I  really 
like  you  too  well  to  marry  3fou." 


44  THE    WOMAN    REFUSES. 

The  earnestness  of  her  voice  conveyed  the  impression  at  last 
that  she  was  speaking  words  which  she  really  meant ;  that  she  was 
not  joking.  His  face  became  very  grave,  his  mouth  had  a  down- 
cast curve. 

"  Lucile,  I  wonder  if  you  know  what  you  are  talking  about  ?  " 

"  I  wish  you  knew  as  well,"  said  Lucile,  very  gravely.  "  Try 
to  comprehend  that  I  do." 

"  But  you  don't  love  any  one  else — there's  no  one — *' 

"  And  because  there  is  no  one  must  I  necessarily  marry  you  ?  " 
She  looked  at  him  with  sparkling  eyes. 

"  No,  Lucile,"  he  said,  despondently.  Adding :  "  You  have 
made  me  very  unhappy." 

"  You  think  I  have — but  it  will  wear  off  in  a  little  while." 
She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm.  "  Teddy,  listen  to  me.  This 
may  be  a  vagary,  a  day-dream  on  my  part — but  I  shall  never  for- 
get the  feeling  that  came  over  me  the  day  I  said  good-by  to  Leila 
Stanton  and  Charlie  at  the  station — that  morning,  you  remember, 
when  they  were  going  away."  Teddy  nodded.  "  There  was  such 
an  expression  on  both  their  faces.  She  was  so  pale,  so  shadowy, 
and  yet  she  looked  at  him  with  such  trustful,  confiding  eyes  !  And 
every  action  of  his  breathed  tenderness.  He  was  not  only  acting 
gently,  but  thinking  gently  of  her,  and  his  thoughts  seemed  to 
surround  her  like  an  atmosphere.  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that 
I  had  known  we  liked  each  other  and  that  in  the  end  I  thought  we 
might  marry.  But  not  now,  Teddy.  There's  a  difference  some 
way,  dear.  Even  if  you  worshiped  me,  which  you  do  not,  I  could 


THE    WOMAN    REFUSES.  48 

not  accept  that  tenderness  from  you.  I  could  not  return  it. 
Teddy,  dear  old  comrade,  you'll  have  to  be  satisfied  with  my 
friendship." 

The  rest  of  the  drive  was  finished  in  silence.  When  they 
reached  the  door  of  the  Hall  and  Teddy  had  helped  her  down  and 
climbed  back  again  himself,  he  leaned  toward  her  out  of  the 
carriage. 

"Needless  to  say  how  sorry  I  am,  Lucile,"  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice,  "  and  if  ever  you  change  your  mind — " 

"  I  shall  change  my  mind  when  you  are  the  cherished  and 
cherishing  husband  of  some  lovable  little  woman,"  she  said,  with 
a  laugh.  "  And  perhaps  I,  too,  will  think  of  the  fortune  I  re- 
fused when  the  husband  I  take  gives  me  a  good  beating." 

"  Lucile !  Don't  jest  about  it !  "  he  said.  "  I  have  hardly 
deserved  a  jest." 

"  Teddy,  I  never  meant — " 

But  he  had  whipped  up  the  horse  and  was  gone,  and  she  stood 
looking  after  him  with  a  rueful  countenance.  Then  she  shrugged 
her  shoulders  and  went  inside. 

That  night  after  dinner — to  which  meal  the  mother  never 
came  down  now — Lucile  told  her  father  of  Teddy's  proposal  and 
also  told  him  that  she  had  refused  him. 

Mr.  Tarrant  did  not  relish  the  information. 

"  I  think  your  mother  is  a  little  worried  about  your  settling 
down  in  life,"  he  said.  "  How  old  are  you,  Lucile — twenty- 
four?" 


46  THE    WOMAN    REFUSES. 

"  Next  birthday,"  she  answered. 

"  And  Teddy  is  a  good  fellow,  child — just  as  fine  a  fellow — '" 

"  I  know  that,  dad.  But  what  in  the  world  is  the  use  of  my 
marrying  him  because  he's  a  good  fellow  ?  How  ridiculous !  You 
might  as  well  tell  me  to  marry  Will.  I  have  the  same  sentiments, 
almost,  for  Teddy.  What  sort  of  affection  is  that  to  start  married 
happiness  on?" 

"  A  very  fine  sort  indeed,"  declared  Mr.  Tarrant.  "  The  best 
sort." 

Lucile  pressed  her  lips  together.  Then  she  put  her  hand  on 
her  father's  arm  and  laid  her  head  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Do  you  really  believe  that,  father  ?  Speak  the  truth  now. 
Isn't  there  such  a  thing  as  love  in  the  world  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Lucile.     But  so  few  people  find  it,  and  so  many  mistake 
blind  folly  for  the  divine  passion  that  it  is  never  safe  to  wait." 
She  laughed  up  at  him. 

"  Oh,  you  wise,  wise  father !  Tell  me  now,  dear — did  you 
ever  know  what  love  is?" 

He  hesitated;  looked  down  at  her;  his  lips  parted. 

"  Yes,  Lucile." 

"It  was  mother?" 

"  No,  dear.  It  was  years  before  I  met — mother.  I  won't  go 
over  it.  It  was  all — we  parted  because  of  an  unfortunate  mistake. 
And  yet — " 

"And  yet?" 

"  You  are  named  for  her,  dear." 


THE    WOMAN    REFUSES.  47 

"  I  am  named  for  her !  "  a  soft  little  sigh  parting  her  lips ;  "  for 
the  unknown  Lucile.  Does  mother  know  ?  " 

He  looked  embarrassed. 

"  I  never  told  her.  But  your  mother  was  always  a  superior 
woman.  She  wouldn't  mind  a  trifle  like  that.  Besides,  it  is 
forgotten  long  since."  He  drew  himself  erect.  "  So  why  talk  of  it  ?" 

"  We  won't,  father,  unless  you  again  insist  that  I  should  marry 
Teddy  Saunders." 

"  Your  mother  and  I,  my  dear,  were  very,  very  happy." 

"  It  is  different  to  the  happiness  I  want,  father.  You  wouldn't 
think  it  fair  or  right  that  I  should  marry  against  my  own  heart." 

"  Your  mother—" 

"I  know.  There's  something  the  matter  with  mother,  dad. 
I  think  she  has  taken  some  sort  of  a  dislike  to  me,  though  it 
seeme  horrible  to  say  it,  doesn't  it  ?  I  tell  you,  father,  let  me  go 
to  Peggy  at  Lakewood.  She  hasn't  written  to  me  in  two  weeks. 
Perhaps  I  can  talk  her  and  Charlie  into  some  sort  of  settlement 
that  would  please  you,  dear." 

"  If  you  only  could,"  he  said,  gloomily.  "  It  would  ease  my 
conscience,  Lucile,  although  I  won't  know  how  to  get  along  with- 
out you." 

"  Leave  it  to  me,  then,"  said  Lucile.  "  And  if  I  can't  persuade 
them — well,  I'll  come  back  and  you  can  marry  me  to  Teddy  Saun- 
ders if  he'll  have  me." 

Her  father  laughed  at  her  bright  face  and  kissed  her  then,  and 
turned  to  go  to  Mrs.  Tarrant's  rooms  with  a  lighter  heart. 


48  "BLIND    FOLLY." 


CHAPTEE   V. 
"BLIND  FOLLY/' 

LUCILE,  a  welcome  addition  to  the  Stanton  party,  had  been 
with  her  cousins  three  weeks.  Leila  was  at  last  beginning  to  im- 
prove in  health,  and  Charlie,  her  devoted  companion,  had  little 
time  to  spare  for  Peggy,  who  found  the  days  weigh  heavier  and 
heavier  upon  her  hands  as  Leila  grew  better.  So  that  Lucile, 
when  she  came,  was  a  veritable  Godsend  to  the  girl.  Lucile  had 
always  been  a  delightful  chum,  and  Peggy  loved  her  dearly. 

"  How  much  longer  do  you  expect  to  remain  away  from  Hub- 
bold  ?  "  asked  Lucile  one  morning  at  breakfast.  Charlie  looked  up 
with  a  laugh. 

"  Exactly  one  month  and  ten  days.  By  that  time  your  cousin 
Charlie's  exchequer  will  be  drained  dry.  He'll  have  about  enough 
money  left  to  take  his  small  family  home  again  and  feed  them 
until  he  gets  to  work." 

Lucile  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"  Supposing  at  the  end  of  the  month  and  ten  days,  you  are 
not  ready  to  go  home  ?  " 

He  knew  what  she  meant;  he  glanced  at  Leila  as  he  answered 
very  simply: 


"BLIND    FOLLY."  40 

"God  is  good/' 

"Why  not  ask  father— " 

"  If  necessary  I  know  he  will  loan  me  all  I  need,"  said  Charlie. 
"  But — I  don't  think  I  will  have  to  borrow." 

"  Borrow ! "  said  Lucile,  later  in  the  day,  as  she  set  off  with 
Peggy  for  the  long  walk  they  took  every  afternoon.  "  Charlie 
is  worse  than  you  are,  Peggy." 

"  Well,"  said  Peggy,  serenely,  "  I  thought  you  weren't  going 
to  argue  with  me  any  more?  You  know  you  always  get  angry 
when  we  begin." 

"That's  so,"  said  Lucile,  thoughtfully.  "Say,  Peggy,  I 
have  got  a  nasty  temper,  haven't  I  ?  " 

"  You'll  never  turn  the  other  cheek,"  laughed  Peggy. 

Lucile  went  on  beside  her  in  silence  for  quite  a  while — then 
she  said  in  a  soft  tone. 

"You  would." 

"  That's  a  question,"  said  Peggy,  brightly.  "  I  might  not  at 
the  right  time.  You  see,  Luce,  the  things  you  get  angry  at  seem 
so  little  to  me.  For  instance,  that  night  so  long  ago,  I  was  think- 
ing of  the  disagreement  with  Mrs.  Dulcimer,  and  how  badly  I 
felt  that  it  should  have  caused  coldness  between  you  and  Aunt 
Hannah.  And  just  then  came  the  news  of  little  David's  death 
and  of  Leila — "  She  filled  up.  "  And  the  other  thing  seemed  so 
tiny  and  trifling.  That  is  the  way,  I  guess,  Lucile.  A  present 
trouble  seems  big  until  another  comes  and  dwarfs  it." 

"  Well,  you  Peggy !  "  said  Lucile.      "  How  can  you  be  so 


50  "BLIND    FOLLY." 

serious  ?  "  She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  It  must  be  the  relig- 
ion— I  don't  think  I'd  like  that  religion  of  yours,  Peggy." 

"  No  ?  "  asked  Peggy,  quietly.  But  she  said  nothing  else,  and 
though  Lucile  looked  at  her  once  or  twice  interrogatively,  the 
girl  vouchsafed  no  word  on  the  subject. 

"  You  won't  mind  telling  me  when  you  first  became  a  Catholic, 
will  you  ?  "  asked  Lucile,  finally. 

"  Not  at  all.  There  was  a  mission  held  in  St.  Francis  de 
Sales'  chapel — the  little  one  at  the  other  end  of  Hubbold.  I  went 
twice  with  Leila,  just  to  keep  her  company.  She  had  no  thought 
of  "converting  me,  and  I  was  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  state  I 
was  in.  I  woke  up/' 

"  How  did  it  feel  ?  "  asked  the  other  girl,  curiously. 

"  Just  as  if  something  new  was  put  in  the  place  where  your 
heart  had  always  been  working  at  a  jog-trot  pace  before,"  said 
Peggy,  graphically.  And  then  she  changed  the  subject.  "  Let  us 
take  in  the  view  from  here,  Lucile.  I  never  grow  tired  of  it,  it 
is  so  beautiful." 

They  stood  looking  out  over  the  beautiful  lake,  with  the  tall 
trees  stretching  in  seemingly  interminable  rows  back  of  it. 
Straight  and  tall  they  reared  their  heads,  nor  stooped  to  see  them- 
selves mirrored  in  the  placid  waters  below.  On  the  banks  beauti- 
ful flowers  were  growing,  for  it  was  still  summer-time,  and  the 
smell  of  the  fresh  green  earth  and  the  odor  of  the  pines  and  the 
grandeur  of  the  quiet  scene  struck  delightfully  upon  one's  senses. 
Lucile  felt  strangely  moved.  Something  in  her  responded  to  the 


"BLIND    FOLLY."  51 

beautiful  vista  spread  before  her.  She  said  nothing — and  Peggy, 
knowing  her  of  old,  did  not  interrupt  her  thoughts. 

"  Peggy/'  she  said  at  last,  in  a  voice  that  was  full  of  feeling, 
"  in  the  light  of  your  religion,  what  does  this  say  to  you  ?  " 

"  That  God  is  love." 

Lucile  started  violently — for  it  was  not  Peggy  who  answered 
her.  She  turned  immediately  in  the  direction  of  the  voice.  There, 
not  six  feet  away  from  her,  stood  a  young  man,  hat  in  hand,  and 
with  an  expression  of  half-smiling,  half-abashed  apology  on  his 
very  handsome  face.  He  had  been  painting,  evidently,  for  palette 
and  brushes  and  sketch-book  lay  at  his  feet. 

"  Your  pardon,"  he  said  now,  in  a  low  tone.  "  But  the  ques- 
tion seemed  to  supply  the  very  answer  I  had  framed  to  it.  And 
your  face,"  he  bowed  gravely;  "your  face  completes  the  answer, 
and  being  but  a  humble  artist,  perhaps  I  ventured  too  much  when 
I  put  it  into  speech." 

Peggy,  the  lovable,  the  easily-pleased,  stood  proud  and  digni- 
fied beside  the  older  girl,  who  was  abashed,  not  so  much  at  the 
speech,  as  at  the  look  which  so  plainly  conveyed  the  stranger's  ad- 
miration. 

"  We  are  sorry  to  have  interrupted  you,"  said  Peggy,  in  a 
frigid  manner,  then.  "  Come,  Lucile,  we  must  be  going." 

Lucile  turned  away  with  actual  reluctance.  The  stranger 
watched  them  go,  a  peculiar  expression  on  his  face,  ere  he  resumed 
his  painting.  It  did  not  seem  to  occupy  him  as  busily  as  it  should, 
for  ere  long  he  laid  the  brush  aside  and  threw  himself  down  upon 


88  "BLIND   FOLLT." 

the  grass,  pulling  his  hat  over  his  eyes.  There  was  a  musing  look 
in  his  eyes. 

"  She  is  certainly  a  very  beautiful  girl/*  he  said  aloud.  "  A — 
very — beautiful — girl !  " 

Meanwhile  Lucile  walked  beside  her  cousin,  much  disturbed 
and  agitated.  What  had  the  glowing  eyes  of  the  stranger  said 
to  her  in  that  brief  glance,  before  she  had  left  him  ?  What  was  it 
that  his  lips  had  not  framed — in  all  probability  never  would 
frame  ? 

"  I  think,"  said  Peggy,  without  preamble,  "  that  he  was  a  very 
forward  and  bold  young  man." 

Lucile  started. 

"Who?  The  artist?"  She  laughed  with  an  affected  light- 
ness. "  Artists  are  privileged  characters." 

"  But  not  to  look  at  a  person  as  he  looked  at  you,"  said  Peggy, 
with  decision. 

So  it  had  not  been  her  fancy !  Peggy,  too,  had  observed  the 
strangeness  of  that  glance ! 

"  Why,  did  he  look  at  me  in  any  way  different  to  that — " 

"  Lucile,  surely  you  noticed  it.  It  really  made  me  ashamed. 
I  don't  think  he's  nice;  he's  got  a  'not-nice'  appearance,  really 
he  has." 

"  Peggy,  when  will  you  get  over  your  childish  habit  of  judging 
people  before  they  open  their  mouths  ?  " 

Peggy  frowned. 

"I  can't  help  it.     And  I  don't  like  that  man — and  if  you 


"BLIND   FOLLY."  58 

weren't  going  to  marry  Ted  Saunders,  the  very  thought  that  he  was 
so  near  you  would  upset  me  dreadfully." 

"  Little  cousin,  don't  be  silly.  And  I'm  not  going  to  marry 
Ted  Saunders." 

Peggy  smiled.  "  Not  until  he  asks  you/'  she  said,  "  but  he's 
ready  when  you're  ready." 

Lucile  looked  at  her. 

"  He  has  asked  me — and  I'm  not  going  to  marry  him,"  she 
said. 

Peggy  grew  quite  pale,  and  her  lips  twitched. 

"  Lucile !  "  she  said.     "  You'll  spoil  his  whole  life." 

Lucile  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  No,  Peggy,  I  won't.  He  doesn't  care  for  me  in  the  right  way. 
I  don't  have  to  tell  you  what  the  difference  is,  but  we're  too  much 
alike.  He  doesn't  love  me — as — Charlie  does  Leila,  for  instance." 

"  But,  Lucile,  you  haven't  given  him  the  chance !  Besides,  a 
man  like  Charlie —  And  then  Leila  is  delicate,"  she  said,  hur- 
riedly to  cover  the  pause,  not  wishing  Lucile  to  think  she  drew 
comparisons.  "  If  you  needed  him,  I  know  Teddy  Saunders 
would  be  satisfied  to  do  all  that  he  possibly  could  to  make  you 
happy." 

"  Come  now,  Peggy,  do  you  think  he  would  do  as  much  for  me 
as  Charlie  would  for  Leila  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Peggy,  frankly.  "  Not  in  the  beginning,  maybe 
— but  afterward,  when  he  got  to  know  you,  say  as  well  as  I  do. 
One  has  to  know  you  well,  Lucile.  On  the  surface  you  seem  so 


64  "BLIND    FOLLY." 

proud,  and  often  bad-tempered.  And  you're  not.  People  just 
say  you  are,  and  you  think  you  are — and  there  you  are !  " 

"A  lucid  explanation,"  said  Lucile,  absently.  Her  thoughts 
were  back  again  with  the  artist  who  had  looked  at  her  with  such 
admiration  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  wonder  if — "  she  began. 

"  What  do  you  wonder,  Lucile  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Lucile. 

She  would  have  been  ashamed  to  confess  to  Peggy  the  feeling 
that  possessed  her  at  that  very  moment.  She  could  not  forget  the 
stranger's  face,  his  manner,  half-timid,  it  seemed  to  her,  wholly 
admiring.  She  wondered  if  Peggy  had  not  been  there  what  the 
outcome  of  that  meeting  would  have  been.  Would  she  have  stayed 
longer;  would  she  have  talked  to  him — perhaps — 

A  crimson  flush  stained  her  cheeks,  and  she  drew  herself  up 
proudly — angry  at  herself  for  the  impression  which  an  entire 
stranger  had  upon  her,  one  whom  she  would  in  all  probability 
never  meet  again.  Could  it  be  possible  that  Lucile  Tarrant  would 
have  stooped  to  an  ordinary  flirtation  with  some  poverty-stricken 
artist  ? 

Poverty-stricken  ?  No,  he  need  not  necessarily  be  that.  Many 
people  took  up  art  for  art's  sake.  .  .  .  And  it  was  not  a 
flirtation.  She  was  not  anxious  to  speak  to  him  again,  save  in 
so  far  as  she  might  comprehend  the  look  that  had  seemed  to  pierce 
her  very  soul.  What  was  it  Peggy  had  said  about  her  religion? 
"  Just  as  if  something  new  had  been  put  in  the  place  where  youi 


"BLIND    FOLLY."  55 

heart  had  always  been  working  at  a  jog-trot  pace  before."    Was 
that  what  this  new,  warm  sensation  filling  her  whole  body  meant  ? 

"Lucile,"  said  Peggy,  very  quietly,  "are  you  sure  you  are 
not  in  love  with  Ted  Saunders  ?  " 

Lucile  started,  gazing  with  astonished  eyes  at  her  cousin. 

"Ted  Saunders?  I  am  pretty  positive  of  it,  Peggy — that  I 
am  not  in  love  with  him,  I  know.  Why?" 

"  Because  you  have  been  so  strange  since  we  spoke  of  him — 
as  if  you  regretted  something,"  said  Peggy.  "  Don't  deceive  your- 
self, Lucile — you  might  like  him  and  not  know  it." 

"  No,"  said  Lucile.  "  That  won't  happen  to  me — I  won't  like 
any  one — and  not  know  it." 

She  spoke  quite  slowly.  They  had  turned  now  and  were  walk- 
ing back  to  their  hotel.  As  they  drew  near  the  spot  where  they 
had  first  seen  the  artist,  Lucile  suddenly  became  self-conscious, 
embarrassed,  and  furtively  drew  herself  erect,  her  eyes  straying 
through  the  trees.  Perhaps  he  was  still  there — would  he  know 
that  they  were  passing — would  he  look  at  her — 

"There  is  that  impudent  fellow  right  in  front  of  us,"  said 
Peggy,  suddenly.  "  Lucile,  what  does  ail  you  ?  You  must  be 
getting  frightfully  nervous — I  never  saw  you  act  in  such  a  man- 
ner !  But  come,"  she  grasped  her  arm,  "  let  us  cut  through  here 
and  we'll  get  out  on  the  main  road  ahead  of  him.  I  don't  want 
to  overtake  him,  he  might  speak  again — and  there's  something 
about  him  I  dislike." 

She  tugged  at  Lucile's  arm  as  she  spoke  and  the  other  had  no 


W  "BLIND   FOLLY." 

choice  but  to  obey.  With  swift  feet  Peggy  tore  through  the  little 
path,  dragging  Lucile  after  her.  They  did  indeed  come  out  on 
the  main  road  a  good  bit  ahead  of  the  artist,  who  was  sauntering 
along  at  a  leisurely  pace.  His  face  kindled  when  he  saw  the  two 
girls  emerge  from  the  path.  He  recognized  them  immediately. 

"  They're  in  a  great  hurry/'  was  his  mental  comment.  That 
was  all.  He  began  to  whistle  a  pretty  melody  under  his  breath, 
nor  did  he  increase  his  pace,  although  he  kept  them  in  sight  all 
the  way.  As  they  turned  in  the  direction  of  their  hotel  a  pleased 
smile  lighted  up  his  face. 

"  Same  hotel !  That's  good,"  he  said.  "  It  will  be  very  en- 
gaging. But  I  must  first  discover  who  she  of  the  lovely  eyes  may 
be."  He  went  to  the  clerk  as  soon  as  he  entered.  "  There  were 
two  young  ladies  just  came  through  here — you  saw  them  ?  " 

"  Yes/'  said  the  clerk,  looking  at  him  expectantly. 

"  I  think  I  recognized  the  younger — but  I  do  not  like  to  claim 
acquaintanceship  if  I  am  mistaken,"  he  said.  "  May  I  ask  you  her 
name  ?  " 

"  The  youngest  one  is  Miss  Margaret  Stanton — the  other,  I 
think,  Miss  Lucile  Tarrant.  Kelatives,  I  believe.  Both  of  Hub- 
bold." 

"  Thank  you — they  are  not  the  same,  although  I  know  a  young 
Mr.  Tarrant  of  Hubbold.  I  daresay  she  has  a  brother  ?  " 

«  Not  here,  sir." 

"  Very  well — and  thank  you  again." 

But  when  he  walked  away  a  puzzled  expression  flitted  across 


"BLIND    FOLLY."  57 

his  face.  "  Tarrant !  "  he  said ;  "  if  it's  that  young  cub,  they're 
pretty  well  fixed.  I  must  find  out.  Hubbold — where's  Hubbold  ? 
By  Jove,  but  she  is  pretty,  and  no  mistake  about  it.  I  wonder  if 
Will  Tarrant  is  her  brother  ?  " 

He  meant  to  find  out  at  the  earliest  opportunity,  resolving,  if 
he  could  get  the  young  lady  alone,  to  make  his  inquiries  in  person. 


THE   BEGINNING. 


CHAPTEE   VI. 

THE   BEGINNING. 

CHANCE  took  the  reins  in  her  hands  in  the  artist's  favor.  Be- 
fore dinner  that  evening,  Lucile,  who  had  taken  particular  pains 
to  appear  at  her  best — perhaps  with  a  half-confessed  desire  that 
she  might  meet  the  young  man  whose  glance  had  so  engaged  her  at- 
tention— came  down  to  the  veranda  and  sat  in  one  of  the  big 
porch  rockers,  waiting  for  Peggy.  She  was  lost  in  a  day-dream, 
when  a  soft  voice  at  her  elbow  seemed  to  drift  in  with  her  thoughts. 
She  was  not  surprised  that  he  should  be  there,  leaning  over  her; 
and  she  knew  if  she  raised  her  eyes  that  she  would  meet  that  dis- 
turbing glance  once  more. 

"  Miss  Tarrant,"  he  said,  in  melodious  tones,  "  I  have  dis- 
covered within  the  last  few  hours  that  you  and  my  friend  Will 
Tarrant  are  brother  and  sister.  Permit  me  to  introduce  myself? 
My  name  is  Paul  Noble — and  a  few  years  ago  Will  and  I  made  a 
hunting  trip  together  through  the  Adirondacks." 

By  this  time  Lucile  had  recovered  her  self-possession. 

"  Oh — I  remember  Will  spoke  of  a  Mr.  Noble  at  that  time — and 
are  you  he  ?  How  delightful ! "  She  lifted  her  pretty  flushed 
face.  "  You  may  be  glad  to  hear  that  Will  is  coming  for  a  week 


THE   BEGINNING.  59 

or  so.  Let  me  see,  to-day  is  Thursday — he  will  probably  be  here 
Sunday  morning." 

"  That's  what  I  call  a  streak  of  good  luck,"  said  Noble.  "  I 
was  trying  to  get  up  the  old  congenial  crowd  once  more  for  a 
mountain  expedition — and  if  Will  joins  us- — Sunday,  did  you  say  ? 
That  will  be  very  fine.  I  shall  try  to  persuade  him.  Perhaps  you 
may  be  kind  enough,  if  it  is  necessary,  to  add  your  voice  to 
mine  ?  " 

"  Oh,  indeed !  "  said  Lucile,  "  you  won't  need  my  voice — 
there  is  surely  nothing  he  would  enjoy  better." 

"  He  is  not  occupied  ?  " 

Lucile  smiled. 

"  Will  never  is — unless  doing  nothing." 

"  Rather  hard  on  Will !  "  laughed  Paul  Noble.  "  He  used  to 
relate  some  stories  of  an  aunt — your  aunt — "  he  paused  inter- 
rogatively, but  Lucile  did  not  fill  in  the  break.  "  I  have  forgotten 
the  name.  A  queer  old  character !  But  interesting.  Is  she  here 
with  you  ?  I  should  like  to  meet  her — " 

"  You  may,  sometime,  if  you  are  good,"  said  Lucile.  "  Aunt 
Hannah  is  dead." 

"  Dead !  "  He  did  not  know  what  to  reply  to  this,  but  flashed 
a  keen  glance  at  her.  Was  she  in  joking  humor  as  the  first  words 
implied,  or  did  she  expect  him  to  speak  words  of  commiseration? 
Lucile's  face  was  absolutely  expressionless ;  she  had  indeed  recov- 
ered herself. 

"  Old  people  are  very  trying/'  he  ventured. 


60  THE   BEGINNING. 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  asked  Lucile,  in  surprised  tones.  "  I  was  not 
aware  of  the  fact." 

"  Some  old  people,"  he  qualified  immediately. 

"  Oh,  perhaps.     Some  are  lovable." 

"  I  daresay — in  spite  of  their  peculiarities."  He  laughed. 
"  I  can  not  speak  from  experience — I  have  never  had  any  very  old 
relatives.  Most  of  our  family  die  young." 

"  Sometimes  the  young  die  good,"  murmured  Lucile. 

Again  he  looked  at  her,  but  this  time  with  newly-awakened  in* 
terest  in  his  eyes  as  well  as  admiration.  This  beautiful  girl  had 
a  ready  tongue — and  that  at  least  meant  she  would  not  be  dull. 
And  it  was  with  this  expression  on  his  face  that  Peggy  Stanton 
saw  the  two  together.  Now  Peggy  was  a  girl  of  sudden  antip- 
athies and  she  disliked  this  man  very  much,  in  spite  of  his  hand- 
some face  and  excessively  polite  manners.  That  was  the  trouble 
— his  politeness  seemed  such  an  effort.  She  hesitated  in  the  door- 
way, looking  at  them,  and  the  man  glancing  up  from  the  contem- 
plation of  Lucile's  brown  head  met  that  gaze  of  actual  disgust,  and 
held  it.  Held  it  long  enough  to  return  it  with  interest.  Peggy's 
head  flew  up  in  the  air,  and  a  spot  of  red  sprang  into  either  cheek. 
She  did  not  advance  on  to  the  porch,  but  spoke  to  Lucile  from  the 
open  door. 

"  Are  you  ready,  Lucile?  "  she  asked.  "  Leila  and  Charlie  are 
waiting  for  us." 

Lucile  rose  languidly. 

"  Oh,  is  it  you,  Peggy  ?  "     She  glanced  from  Paul  Noble  to 


THE  BEGINNING.  61 

the  girl.  "  Permit  me  ?  This  gentleman  has  introduced  him- 
self as  Mr.  Noble — a  friend  of  Will's.  He  was  with  him  on  that 
hunting  trip  we  heard  so  much  of  some  years  ago." 

"Is  that  so?"  murmured  Peggy.  She  bowed  very  frigidly, 
and  looked  at  Lucile  expectantly.  "  Do  hurry,  Lucile — Charlie 
wishes  to  take  Leila  for  a  drive  before  it  gets  too  late.  She  can't 
be  out  after  nine." 

"  Pray  pardon  me  ? "  said  Lucile  to  Mr.  Noble.  His  face, 
his  eyes,  spoke  volumes — and  once  more  that  strange  sensation 
went  through  her  whole  body.  Inside  she  grasped  Peggy's  arm. 
Her  fingers  were  cold. 

"  Peggy !  did  you  ever  see  any  one  so  handsome,  so  splendid  ?  M 
she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  There  is  something  in  his  face — " 

Much  astonished,  Peggy  drew  away  from  the  excited  girl. 

"Lucile!" 

But  Lucile,  after  that  first  outburst,  grew  angry  at  herself 
and  said  no  more  on  the  subject. 

At  dinner  Paul  Noble  was  seated  where  he  could  watch  her. 
Her  eyes  were  brilliant,  her  lips  red,  her  face  flushed.  More  than 
once  people  turned  to  stare  at  her.  Charlie  remarked  on  her  ap- 
pearance with  a  laugh. 

"  I  think  Lakewood  agrees  better  with  Lucile  than  anybody. 
I  have  never  seen  her  look  so  well." 

"  Perhaps  I  am  better  adapted  to  shine  in  a  crowd  than  to 
vegetate  in  the  wilderness." 

"  Oh,  is  that  it  ?  "  laughed  Charlie.    "  I'll  believe  it  if  you 


62  THE   BEGINNING. 

grow  dull  after  we  get  home.  But  I  think  it's  being  in  love  with 
Ted  Saunders.  Uncle  Tarrant  wrote  me  " — he  never  called  him 
David  since  his  little  boy's  death — "  about  Ted.  What  was  the 
objection,  Lucile  ?  Just  giving  him  a  test  or  two  ?  You  girls  are 
great  at  that." 

"  Did  Leila  ?  "  mischievously. 

"  Oh,  Leila !  I  shaVt  tell  you  how  Leila  treated  me."  He 
looked  affectionately  at  his  wife,  who  smiled.  "  I  have  too  much 
sympathy  for  my  fellow-man." 

"  Leila,"  said  Peggy,  solemnly,  "  I  want  lessons." 

"  Dear !  "  said  Leila.  "  Every  member  of  the  sex  is  a  differ- 
ent species  of  wild  animal — " 

"  First  catch  your  hare,"  put  in  Lucile  with  a  laugh. 

"  Then  skin  him,"  said  Charlie. 

"  Of  course — the  married  man !  "  cried  Peggy.  "  The  much- 
abused  married  man !  I  wonder  who  is  hare  and  who  is  hound — 
before  the  unhappy  bachelor  becomes  the  much-abused  married 
man?" 

In  nonsense  such  as  this  the  dinner  hour  passed  off  pleasantly 
enough.  They  were  comrades,  with  the  easy  attitude  toward  one 
another  of  people  who  have  known  each  other  long  and  intimately. 
Eecollections  of  past  jolly  times,  of  people  whom  all  knew,  of 
prophecies  of  the  future,  kept  them  in  a  glow  of  talk  and  innocent 
fun  all  during  the  meal.  Many  envied  them  the  peaceful  happi- 
ness, the  capacity  for  enjoyment  that  seemed  to  be  theirs — and 
Paul  Noble  looked  toward  them  wistfully  more  than  once,  think- 


THE   BEGINNING.  «3 

ing  how  enjoyable  it  would  be  to  sit  and  bask  in  Lucile's  smiles; 
listening  to  the  words  she  spoke  which  seemed  so  to  amuse  the 
others.  But  Lucile  was,  apparently,  totally  oblivious  of  his  pres- 
ence. Nor  did  she  see  him  again  that  night. 

Will  Tarrant  came  Sunday  morning — the  genial,  happy-go- 
lucky,  lazy  Will  Tarrant,  and  Paul  Noble  employed  the  interven- 
ing days  in  making  himself  agreeable  to  Charlie  Stanton.  This 
was  not  a  hard  task,  for  any  one  more  open  or  less  suspicious  than 
Charlie  would  be  hard  to  find.  By  discreet  questioning  Paul  discov- 
ered that  Lucile's  father  was  now  the  owner  of  the  Hubbold  Mills. 
And  after  that  he  carefully  planned  a  campaign  for  himself  which 
would  have  done  credit  to  a  general.  Will  Tarrant,  coming  to  a 
strange  place,  would  have  been  glad  to  make  friends  at  once  with 
any  one — and  to  meet  Noble,  whom  he  remembered  well,  was  a 
pleasure.  He  listened  with  delight  to  the  account  of  the  last 
mountain  trips,  Noble,  who  was  quite  a  sportsman,  had  taken — 
and  he  volunteered  at  once  to  join  the  party  of  six  men  any  time 
they  were  ready. 

So  for  a  week  young  Tarrant  and  Noble  were  inseparable,  and 
Lucile  saw  little  of  them.  Whereupon,  this  not  suiting  her  at 
all,  she  spoke  to  her  brother. 

"  It's  a  wonder  you  wouldn't  give  us  some  of  your  society," 
she  remarked,  crisply.  "  You  haven't  spoken  three  words  to 
Peggy  since  you  came." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have/'  he  declared.  "  Only  Noble's  such  a  good 
chap,  you  know,  one  just  hates  to  lose  any  of  him.  Say,  he's  fine, 


64  THE   BEGINNING. 

Lucile.  If  he  wasn't  a  woman-hater  I'd  ask  him  to  join  our 
crowd." 

"  A  woman-hater !  The  very  idea !  "  cried  Lucile.  "  I  don't 
believe  it." 

Will  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  He'll  never  come  near  you  girls — I've  asked  him  time  and 
time  again,  and  he  refuses.  Often  if  he's  with  me  and  sees  you 
coming,  he'll  turn  around  and  go  another  way.  He  says  he  thinks 
he  offended  you  the  first  day  he  met  you — " 

"  Why,  Will,  he  didn't  do  anything  of  the  sort !  Peggy  don't 
like  him,  I  know  that  for  a  fact.  He  spoke  to  me — I'm  sure  he 
intended  no  offense — it  would  be  too  silly."  She  looked  at  him 
keenly.  "  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  Mr.  Noble  and  his  thoughts," 
she  went  on  with  a  fine  assumption  of  unconcern.  "  I'd  rather 
talk  of  you.  Will,  why  don't  you  be  nice  to  Peggy?  She's  such 
a  sweet  little  thing,  and  I  know  that  father  would  just  be  happy 
forever  after  if  you  and  she  could  fall  in  love  and  marry." 

Will  squared  his  shoulders  and  met  his  sister's  eyes. 

"  Lady  Peggy's  about  the  only  girl  could  straighten  me  out," 
he  said. 

"  See !  I  knew  it !  If  you're  not  a  goose,  Will,  to  lose  such  a 
lot  of  time !  " 

"Am  I  ?  You  just  ask  Lady  Peggy.  Are  you  aware  that 
she's  a  Catholic?" 

"Pshaw!  Charlie  wasn't  a  Catholic  when  Leila  married 
him." 


THE   BEGINNING.  65 

"  Never  mind  about  that  part  of  it.  I've  told  Lady  Peggy  all 
that — in  fact,  I  proposed  to  her  right  before  Aunt  Hannah  died — 
before  she  came  out  to  Lakewood.  I'm  quite  soft  on  Lady  Peggy, 
Lucile." 

"  You  proposed !  No !  "  breathlessly.  "  And  what  did  she 
say?" 

"  Lots  of  things,"  gloomily. 

"  Among  which — " 

"  Among  which  was  the  fact  of  her  religion — Scorcher  No.  1. 
Second,  that  relatives  don't  marry  within  third  degree  of  kindred 
— law  of  the  Church,  you  see — Scorcher  No.  2.  And  thirdly, 
that  if  there  wasn't  another  man  on  the  face  of  this  earth  she'd 
never  want  to  be  tied  to  any  one  as  lazy  as  I  am — Scorcher  No.  3. 
And  by  Jingo,  she's  right,  and  I  respect  her  for  her  opinion. 
Besides—" 

"  Well  ?  "  Lucile  was  keenly  interested.  "  Well  ?  Do  go  on, 
Will?" 

"  Don't  say  anything  to  her,  Luce?" 

"  On  my  word,  Will." 

"  I  think  she  likes  Teddy." 

«  NO ! " 

"  Honest  Injun,  I  think  she  does  like  him." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  so,  Will.  He's  a  fine  fellow — and  he  and  Peggy 
would  get  along  nicely — they'd  be  just  suited  to  each  other,  I'm 
sure." 

"  That's  all  right — when  you  were  just  saying  how  fine  a 


66  THE   BEGINNING-. 

couple  she  and  I  would  make!  But  you've  really  turned  him 
down,  Lucile  ?  For  good  ?  " 

"  I  don't  love  him,  Will — I  couldn't  marry  him." 

The  brother  shifted  uneasily  from  one  foot  to  the  other.  "  I'll 
tell  you  something  else  if  you'll  keep  your  mouth  closed." 

"Yes?" 

"  I  think  Noble's  head  over  heels  in  love  with  either  you  or 
Lady  Peggy — I  can't  find  out  which." 

"  Peggy,  of  course ! "  she  said,  laughing,  although  her  voice 
trembled.  Will  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  I  wouldn't  say  that.  But  when  I  go  to  talk  of  you  he 
shuts  me  off — he  won't  let  me,  Lucile.  And  he  seems  so  down- 
hearted— it's  a  pity.  He's  Al,  too,"  went  on  this  garrulous 
young  man ;  "  he  knows  more  about  traps  than  most  of  the  Adiron- 
dack guides  put  together,  and  he's  a  fine  shot,  and  he's  as  keen  on 
a  scent  as  an  animal  himself.  By  Jove,  I  like  him,  Lucile." 

"  That's  good,"  said  Lucile,  shrugging  her  shoulders  indiffer- 
ently. "  Men  who  make  good  companions  on  a  hunting  trip  are 
not  as  likely  to  make  good  companions  for  life." 

"  Why  not?  "  asked  Will.  "  That's  no  way  to  judge  a  fellow. 
No  one's  wanting  you  to  like  him.  I'm  sure  I  ain't.  He  would  be 
the  last  one  to  ask  a  chap  to  put  in  a  good  word  for  him — he's  very 
independent  all  around,  I  guess — on  the  money  question,  too. 
He's  got  plenty  of  it,  I  believe." 

This  conversation  might  have  had  some  effect  on  the  girl's 
future  conduct.  She  met  Paul  Noble  that  night  as  she  entered 


THE   BEGINNING.  67 

one  of  the  parlors  in  quest  of  her  cousins.  He  drew  aside  and  let 
her  pass — one  glance  told  her  that  none  of  her  party  was  in  the 
room.  She  stopped  then,  and  looked  up  into  the  man's  face. 

"  May  I  venture  to  say  a  word  or  two  ?  "  she  asked,  brightly. 
"  My  brother  informed  me  the  other  day  that  you  were  labor- 
ing under  a  false  impression  in  regard  to  me." 

"I— I?     In  what  way?" 

"  That  you  imagined  that  you  had  offended  me  that  day  at  the 
lake — when  you  spoke — "  She  flushed.  "I  am  not  offended,  Mr. 
Noble." 

He  started  forward,  eagerly. 

"  No  ?  Then  why  have  you  been  so  cold,  so  haughty,  so — 
Oh,  I  beg,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Lucile.  I  have  no  right  to 
ask  such  questions." 

"  That  is  true,"  she  said,  gravely,  and  the  honesty  of  her  eyes 
should  have  shamed  him — but  he  did  not  recognize  that  clear 
honesty,  he  had  been  too  long  a  stranger  to  it.  "  Nevertheless,  I 
have  not  been  cold  or  haughty,  as  you  put  it.  I  simply  saw  that  you 
wished  to  avoid  us,  and  gave  you  every  opportunity  of  doing  so." 

"  Will  you  permit  me  to  speak  to  you,  to  occasionally  converse 
with  you  ?  "  he  said,  quickly.  "  Prove  to  me  that  you  are  not 
offended.  It  is  beautiful  outside. .  The  moonlight  is  framing  the 
world  in  silver,  and  there  is  the  soul  of  a  poet  in  you.  Come  out 
with  me,  and  tell  me  what  the  moonlight  says  to  you." 

Lucile,  with  a  soft  little  smile  on  her  lips,  laid  her  hand  on  his 
arm,  and  turned  with  him  out  into  the  glorious  summer  night. 


THE    LOVE    OF   LUCILS. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE   LOVE   OF   LUCILE. 

PEGGY  was  angry,  Peggy  was  furiously  angry,  and  Peggy  in  a 
temper  was  a  sight  given  to  few  mortals,  because  when  things  went 
wrong  she  usually  locked  herself  in  her  room  and  fought  out  all 
her  trouble  until  she  was  sure  that  she  could  be  civil  to  those 
around  her.  But  now  her  blue  eyes  fairly  scorched  the  abashed 
young  man  standing  before  her  and  her  fine  little  head  was  set  at 
a  dangerous  angle. 

"  It's  all  your  fault,"  she  was  saying.  "  Every  bit  of  it,  Will 
Tarrant.  You  gave  that  man  the  countenance  of  praise,  and 
associated  with  him,  and  now  your  sister  and  he  are  in  love  with 
each  other.  It  doesn't  matter  much  with  him,"  contemptuously. 
"  I  know  what  sort  of  love  his  love  is.  But  Lucile !  " 

"  Lady  Peggy,  if  you'll  let  me  get  a  word  in — " 

"  I  will  not — you  haven't  any  word  to  get  in.  Here's  Lucile 
in  love  with  a  man — like,  that !  "  No  words  could  describe  the 
scorn  in  her  voice.  "  Yes — and  who  is  he  ?  You  don't  know — 
he  might  have  a  dozen  wives.  Who  are  his  people  ?  Where  does 
he  come  from?  What  will  Uncle  Tarrant  say  when  he  finds 
out—" 


THE    LOVE    OF   LUCILE.  69 

"  Say,  Peggy,  wait  a  minute.  Can't  you  give  Lucile  credit  for 
better  sense?  She's  only  teaching  him  a  lesson — " 

Peggy  opened  her  eyes  wide. 

"  Teaching  him  a  lesson !     Who  told  you  that  ?  " 

"  She  did.  In  the  beginning  she  told  me  just  that.  You 
know  he'd  always  been  a  woman-hater  and  she's  raising  him,  that's 
all.  Don't  you  understand?  She's  not  a  bit  in  love  with  him, 
Peggy." 

"  Oh,  Will,  do  not  believe  it — I  know  otherwise." 

"  He  could  do  a  great  sight  worse  than  Lucile,"  said  Will 
Tarrant. 

"  Worse — than — Lucile !  "  Peggy  flared  up  again.  "  What 
have  you  got  in  your  head  in  place  of  brains,  Will?  I  think  the 
great  Lord  made  you  a  living  example  of  what  can  be  done  with 
sawdust." 

"  Keep  on,  Peggy." 

"  Oh,  Will,  I  mean  it.  Lucile  is  in  love  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life." 

"  But,  Peggy,  such  nonsense !     Why  do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  I  know  Lucile.  She's  in  love  with  that  man,  and  he's  not 
worth  even  her  little  finger.  I  don't  suppose  she'll  marry  him — 
Uncle  Tarrant  will  take  care  of  that — but  I  doubt  if  she  ever  gets 
over  it.  I  always  imagined  Lucile  would  be  just  that  way — it's 
too  cruel ! "  finished  Peggy,  with  a  break  in  her  voice.  "  Why 
couldn't  she  have  married  Ted  Saunders  and  let  him  make  her 
happy?" 


70  THE    LOVE    OF   LUCIL&: 

The  little  catch  in  her  throat  melted  good-natured  Will  Tar- 
rant  at  once.  He  caught  her  hand  in  his  and  held  it. 

"  Lady  Peggy,"  he  said,  softly.  "  A  girl  can  do  a  lot  with  a 
man,  and  maybe  if  Noble  is  in  earnest,  Lucile  could  do  worse  than 
have  him.  She  might  make  just  such  a  fellow  as  he  is  a  good 
wife — Teddy  Saunders  is  too  much  like  herself.  Peggy,  dear 
little  cousin,"  gently,  "  you  know  what  I  am,  and  you  know  how 
disgusted  dad  is  with  me,  but  honest,  if  there  were  only  some 
way  in  which  you  could  make  up  your  mind  to  have  me,  I  know 
I'd—" 

"  Don't  talk  like  that,"  said  Peggy,  sharply.  "  If  I  loved  you 
so  much  that  I  thought  you  the  best  and  greatest  and  grandest 
fellow  ever  lived ;  if  I  thought  I  could  make  you  a  hero  or  a  saint 
— or — or — the  President  of  the  United  States,  I  couldn't  marry 

you.     My  Church  will  not  permit  it  and  you're  my  first  cousin — 

• 

almost  my  brother — and  I  won't  do  it.  Besides  that,  I  couldn't 
marry  you,  for  I  don't  love  you  and  I  never  can.  And  let  that 
settle  it  all,  Will,  and  let  us  get  back  to  Lucile,  for  if  you  knew 
how  anxious  I  am,  and  how  I  dislike  that  dreadful  man,  with  his 
horrid  eyes,  and  his  smile  that  Lucile  calls  '  heavenly  ' — and — 
and — that  nasty,  thick,  horrid,  black  mustache — " 

Words  failed  Peggy.  Temper  and  grief  welled  up  in  her 
again,  only  this  time  they  brought  the  tears  to  her  eyes,  and  she 
sat  down  suddenly  with  her  handkerchief  to  her  face.  Will  Tar- 
rant  could  only  stare  at  her  helplessly.  Then  a  sudden  idea  struck 
him. 


THE    LOVE    OF    LUCILE.  71 

"  Peggy,  listen — I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  Stop  crying, 
Peggy,  stop  crying,  and  listen.  Straighten  up." 

She  wiped  her  eyes,  blew  her  little  nose,  and  looked  at  him. 

"  I'll  telegraph  father  to  telegraph  us  to  come  home — that  he's 
lonesome — if  you'll  come  with  us  and  explain.  If  I  tried  to  do  it 
father  would  think  me  crazy." 

"  And  what  will  he  think  of  me  ?  "  she  asked  involuntarily. 

"  Oh,  he'll  listen  to  every  word  you  say,  Madam  Sensible.  But 
Peggy,  if  Noble  really  likes  Lucile  and  follows  us  to  Hubbold  and 
makes  things  right  with  dad — " 

"  He  won't,  he  can't !  Will,"  she  drew  nearer  and  spoke  in  a 
whisper,  "Leila  told  me  the  other  day  that  she  can't  bear  him! 
And  when  Leila  says  a  thing  like  that  about  any  one  I'm  afraid 
there's  no  hope  for  him." 

"  Neither  do  I — Leila  could  be  gentle  to  Judas,  I  think/' 
said  Will,  warmly.  "  No,  Peggy,  we'll  stop  matters  here,  and  if 
they  come  to  a  crisis  at  home,  well,  it  won't  be  our  fault,  honey. 
Only  you'll  have  to  come  with  us,  that's  all.  Leila  and  Charlie 
will  return  in  a  few  weeks — and  father  has  been  getting  The 
Laurels  ready  for  them.  It  wouldn't  do  for  Leila  to  go  back  to 
their  own  house  after  David — " 

"Uncle  Tarrant  is  a  darling,"  interjected  Peggy. 

"  So  you  can  oversee  the  furnishing  and  all  that,  and  fix 
things  up  the  way  Leila  likes  them.  She's  pretty  well  now,  isn't 
she?" 

"  Never  was  better  in  her  life."    Peggy  sat  very  still.     "  If 


72  THE   LOVE    OF   LUCILE. 

I  never  loved  my  brother,  I'd  have  to  fairly  idolize  him  for  what 
he's  been  to  Leila.  .It  would  have  taught  any  among  us  a  good 
lesson.  Why,  she  was  a  child,  her  heart  almost  broken,  her  brain 
benumbed,  her  whole  life  spoiled — "  Peggy  shook  her  head. 
"  Thank  God  for  my  brother  Charlie ;  and  thank  God  he  is  a 
Catholic,  and  that  I  am  one,  too.  Nothing,  nothing  in  the 
world  can  do  a  person  good  when  trouble  comes,  but  faith  in 
God/' 

Will  Tarrant  looked  at  her  glowing  face,  and  something  like 
ambition  fired  his  aimless  soul. 

"  Peggy,  where  do  you  get  all  your  fine  little  thoughts  from  ?  " 

"  Fine  little  thoughts !  Don't  be  absurd !  "  said  Peggy,  scorn- 
fully. "  I  just  wish  I  had  words  for  what  I  want  to  say — about 
Charlie  and  about  Leila,  and — and — about  their  love  for  each 
other,  and  their  faith  and  all  that.  You  don't  want  fine  thoughts 
when  a  calamity  like  David's  death  tears  your  very  heart  in  two; 
you  just  want  to  fling  yourself  right  into  the  fire  of  God's  love 
and  let  it  burn  the  pain  away." 

"  Peggy,"  said  Will,  despairingly,  "  don't  you  think  you 
could  marry  me  ?  " 

But  Peggy  would  not  listen;  only  laughed  at  him  with  the 
tears  of  emotion  still  in  her  eyes,  and  ran  off. 

"You'll  come?"  he  called  after  her.  "You'll  come  if  I 
arrange  it?" 

"  Yes,"  called  Peggy  back  again.    "  Yes,  I'll  come/' 
***** 


THE    LOVE    OF   LUCILE.  73 

Lucile  Tarrant  was  much  annoyed  when  Will  brought  her  the 
telegram  from  her  father,  summoning  them  home.  There  was  no 
cause  for  alarm.  "  Just  lonesome,"  had  been  added  to  the  mes- 
sage. Nevertheless,  despite  her  annoyance,  her  heart  was 
tender ;  she  was  much  sweeter  and  gentler  than  she  had  ever  been 
in  all  her  life.  She  yearned  to  see  her  father,  to  put  her  arms 
about  him,  to  caress  him.  Yet  some  tie  bound  her  to  this  place. 

She  would  not  confess  that  it  was  Paul  Noble.  She  would 
not  confess  her  love  for  him  even  then,  though  she  listened  for 
his  step  and  his  presence  made  her  happy.  But  they  were  walking 
quietly  under  the  pines  when  she  told  him  that  they  had  been  sum- 
moned to  return,  and  her  heart  gave  a  leap  of  joy  when  he  stood 
still,  seized  her  arm  and  tried  to  meet  her  eyes. 

"  Home !  "  he  said.  "  You  are  going  home — you  are  going 
home — you  will  leave — me  ?  " 

He  said  no  more  for  a  little  while,  and  though  her  face  was 
flushed  and  her  eyes  bright  in  anticipation  of  what  his  next  words 
would  be  she  was  glad  that  he  did  not  speak — glad  to  be  able  to 
understand  without  spoken  words.  At  last  they  came. 

"  Lucile,"  he  said,  "  I  love  you/' 

She  did  not  answer  him. 

"  I  love  you.  I  shall  not  ask  you  if  you  love  me — I  dare  not. 
I  have  nothing  to  give  you,  not  even  earnestness.  I  live  from 
to-day  until  to-morrow.  I  have  been  a  Bohemian  all  my  life, 
expect  to  be  one  all  the  rest  of  it.  I  can  not  ask  you  to  share  my 
lot — I  have  no  lot  to  share,"  bitterly.  "  But  I  can  tell  you  that 


74  THE    LOVE    OF    LUCILE. 

you  are  the  sweetest  and  best  girl  I  ever  met — and  that  I  love 
you." 

Lucile  looked  at  him,  a  smile  parting  her  lips. 

"  You  mean,  that  you  are  poor  ?  " 

"  I  am  poor,  yes.  And  I  have  always  been  glad  of  it  until 
now." 

"  But  I  am  not  poor." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  They  had  come  to  the  path  where 
she  had  first  met  him — and  now  stood  side  by  side  looking  out 
over  the  lake.  They  were  alone — and  Lucile,  stirred  by  the  soft 
stillness  of  the  scene,  and  by  the  emotions  filling  her  own  heart, 
turned  and  looked  up  into  his  eyes. 

"  If  you  love  me — really  love  me — could  you  let  me  go  away 
from  you  ?  "  she  asked,  simply. 

"  You  are  going  away  from  me,"  he  answered.  "  I  can  not 
keep  you." 

"  But  you  can  follow." 

"  To  what  end  ?    If  you  cared — " 

"  You  have  not  asked  me  if  I  cared." 

He  was  very  quiet  for  a  few  minutes,  not  looking  at  her.  In 
spite  of  himself,  then,  his  eyes  sought  her  face;  studied  its  sweet- 
ness, its  beauty,  its  goodness.  Something  like  a  sigh  parted  his 
lips.  For  once  in  his  reckless  life  Paul  Noble  felt  an  impulse 
toward  higher  things;  he  felt  called  upon  to  reach  this  girl's 
level.  With  this  feeling  full  upon  him,  he  placed  his  hand  upon 
her  shoulder  and  she  raised  her  honest  eyes  to  his. 


THE    LOVE    OF   LUCILE.  75 

"  Lucile,"  he  said,  "  do  you  love  me  ?  " 

She  did  not  flinch,  although  her  face  flushed  crimson  under 
his  gaze.  She  did  not  drop  her  lids,  but  looked  at  him  with  the 
light  of  steady  purpose  on  her  face. 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

He  had  meant  to  win  her,  he  had  endeavored  by  every  art  in 
his  power  to  make  her  care — and  now  he  felt  ashamed.  He 
turned  his  head  away  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  She 
stood  waiting  for  him  to  speak  to  her — she  would  add  nothing  to 
that  simple  confession.  He  had  asked  a  question — she  had  an- 
swered it.  The  rest  depended  upon  him. 

"  Lucile,  I  am  not  worthy,"  he  said.     "  I  am  not  worthy." 

"  It  is  too  late  to  think  of  that  now,"  she  said,  gently. 

"  You  love  me  well  enough  to  marry  me  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  if  I  come  after  you — to  Hubbold — to  your  home — you 
will  receive  me ;  you  will  let  me  try  to  prove  myself — " 

She  gave  him  her  hand  then,  with  a  smile. 

"  You  may  do  all  three,"  she  said.  "  And  now  let  us  go 
back  again.  Only — this  is  my  good-by  to  you." 

"  You  mean  it  is  good-by  until  we  meet  again." 

"  Until  we  meet  again !" 

He  carried  her  two  hands  to  his  lips,  kissing  them  over  and 
over. 

"  And,"  she  added,  gently,  "  the  Lord  watch  between  me  and 
thee  until  that  happy  hour." 


76  THE    LOVE    OF   LUC1LE. 

He  dropped  her  hands. 

"  You  are  too  good/'  he  said,  in  a  voice  of  emotion.  "  Lucile, 
Lucile,  you  are  too  good,  dear.  Better  for  you  that  hour  never 
comes." 

With  a  gesture  of  indescribable  tenderness  she  put  her  fingers 
on  his  arm. 

"  Whether  it  be  long  or  short  in  coming — whether  it  be  a  week, 
or  month,  or  never,  God  have  you  in  His  keeping  until  then." 

And  so  Paul  Noble,  with  the  prize  he  had  worked  for  in  his 
grasp,  walked  home  beside  her.  Not  exultant;  shamed,  rather; 
shamed  and  silent. 


CALAMITY.  77 


CHAPTEE   VIII. 

CALAMITY. 

THEY  were  in  the  Hall  again — and  Peggy  was  under  the  roof 
that  had  sheltered  her  for  so  many  years.  The  first  few  days 
were  spent  in  sorrowful  reminiscences  of  her  dead  aunt.  She 
had  been  home  a  week  before  she  ventured  to  go  to  the  old  room, 
the  only  one,  by  the  way,  which  had  not  been  altered;  and  when 
finally  she  did  go,  she  could  not  keep  back  her  emotion,  crying  as 
if  her  heart  would  break.  When  she  left  it  she  was  scarcely  in  a 
mood  to  encounter  Mrs.  Tarrant.  But  Mrs.  Tarrant,  standing  on 
the  threshold  of  her  own  apartments,  waited  until  the  girl  came 
near  her,  and  when  she  spoke  her  tones  surprised  Peggy. 

"  You  have  not  been  to  see  me,"  she  said,  very  gently.  "  Yet 
I  expected  you,  Peggy." 

"  Oh  !  "  faltered  Peggy.  "  They  told  me  you  were  not  well. 
And  I  did  not  want  to  bother  you." 

"  Bother  me !  "  Mrs.  Tarrant  smiled,  and  the  smile  lighted  up 
her  whole  face.  "  Come  inside,  Peggy,  child,  and  sit  down,  and 
tell  me  about  Lakewood.  And  how  is  Leila?  And  Charlie? 
And  is  Leila  getting  better  ?  " 

Thoroughly  mystified,  Peggy  followed  her  Aunt  Mary,  and 


78  CALAMITY. 

sat  down  in  the  chair  she  placed  for  her.  There  was  a  slightly 
bewildered  expression  on  her  face,  and  she  looked  at  Mrs.  Tarrant, 
questioningly,  noticing  the  shrunken  aspect  of  her  figure,  and 
the  accentuation  of  features  that  had  always  been  inclined  to 
thinness.  Peggy's  heart  was  as  big  as  her  little  body,  so  the 
wonderment  gave  way  to  pity  now. 

"  You  are  not  well !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Aunt  Mary,  I  think 
you  need  a  change  of  scene.  You  have  no  idea  what  good  it  does, 
honestly.  One  would  scarcely  know  Lucile — " 

"  I  don't  want  to  speak  of  Lucile,"  said  Mrs.  Tarrant.  "  Tell 
me  of  yourself.  And  after  that,  I'm  going  to  talk  about  you, 
Peggy,  and  I  hope  you'll  listen  to  me." 

"  Why,  of  course,"  said  Peggy,  with  animation.  And  then 
she  told  her,  as  she  had  requested,  about  Charlie  and  Leila  and  of 
Leila's  health  and  of  Lakewood,  and  of  Will  Tarrant.  When  she 
reached  this  last  subject,  Mrs.  Tarrant  glanced  at  her,  smiling. 

"  That's  what  I  want  to  listen  to,"  she  said.  "  Peggy,  Will 
tells  me  he  has  asked  you  to  marry  him." 

"  Yes,"  said  Peggy.     "  He  has." 

"  I  wish  you  would  marry  him." 

"  I  can't,  Aunt  Mary.     I  am  a  Catholic." 

"  That  doesn't  matter." 

"It  does  matter." 

"  I  tell  you  it  doesn't.  I  can't  understand  such  folly  on  your 
part,  Peggy.  He  is  in  love  with  you ;  he  would  make  you  a  good 
husband,  and  you  could  do  just  as  you  pleased  with  him — •  That 


CALAMITY.  TO 

is  an  advantage,"  smiling.  "  I  have  found  it  so  with  your  Uncle 
David." 

"  Perhaps  it  is,"  said  Peggy,  with  spirit,  "  but  it's  an  advan- 
tage some  one  else  can  have.  I  don't  want  it." 

"  There  are  other  things.  You  and  Charlie  are  comparatively 
poor  now — Charlie  has  to  work  under  David.  If  you  and  Will 
were  married  you  could  see  that  Charlie — " 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  to  me  in  that  strain,"  said  Peggy. 
"  I  can't  marry  Will — we  are  first  cousins.  Our  Church  forbids 
it — I'm  sick  and  tired  telling  him  that — why  doesn't  he  be- 
lieve me  ?  As  for  money — well,"  she  laughed,  "  I  think  I  have 
proven  that  I  don't  want  money."  It  was  the  only  allusion  she 
had  ever  made  to  her  refusal  of  Aunt  Hannah's  legacy.  Mrs. 
Tarrant  grew  very  pale. 

"  You  may  change  your  mind  if  ever  you  feel  the  need  of  it." 

"  While  there's  honest  work  to  be  done  by  honest  hands  I  shall 
never  feel  the  need  of  it,"  said  Peggy,  with  meaning. 

Mrs.  Tarrant  looked  at  her  sharply. 

"  We'll  come  back  to  this  subject  again,"  she  said,  after  a 
moment.  "  Think  it  over.  Think  how  your  refusal  will  work 
against  your  own  future — and  perhaps  injure  Charlie — " 

Flaring  with  indignation,  Peggy  sprang  to  her  feet — but  be- 
fore she  could  speak  her  aunt  put  up  her  hand  wearily. 

"  I  am  tired,"  she  said. 

In  the  hall  Peggy  met  her  Uncle  David — and  would  have  run 
past  him,  but  that  he  caught  her  bj  the  arm. 


80  CALAMITY. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Lady  Peggy  ?  "  he  asked,  using  Will's 
favorite  name  for  her. 

"  Some  place  where  I  can  just  fight  out  my  temper  by  my- 
self," said  Peggy.  "  I  have  been  angry  twice  within  the  last  two 
weeks — I  must  be  growing  frightfully  wicked.  Let  me  go,  Uncle 
David—" 

"  But  don't  you  think  it's  time  to  make  that  explanation 
you've  been  putting  off  for  a  week  ?  I'm  getting  curious." 

"  I'll  come  back  in  half  an  hour  and  explain  everything/' 
said  Peggy,  desperately.  "  Yes,  I  will,  if  you'll  only  let  me  go 
now." 

"  All  right,"  laughingly.  "  I'll  be  in  the  music-room. 
Lucile's  gone  for  a  walk." 

She  kept  her  word.  In  half  an  hour  she  returned  to  him. 
He  threw  aside  his  book,  pulling  her  down  upon  his  knee,  and 
putting  his  arm  as  caressingly  about  her  as  if  she  had  been  Lucile 
herself. 

"  You  want  to  know  why  Will  sent  you  the  telegram  ?  You'll 
think  us  very  foolish,  Uncle  David." 

"  Go  on — let  me  judge." 

"  Well,  there  was  a  man  there — Paul  Noble,  his  name  is.  Will 
knew  him  before,  and  he  and  Lucile  were  so  much  together,  and 
Lucile,  I  could  see,  was  just  falling  desperately  in  love  with  him 
and  we  all  disliked  him.  Even  Leila  did — think  of  it.  Leila  did. 
So  I  scolded  Will  and  he  got  the  idea  of  sending  the  telegram  on 
condition  that  I'd  explain  it.  That's  the  explanation,  and  don't 


CALAMITY.  81 

scold.  If  that  man  likes  Lucile  well  enough,  he'll  follow  her, 
and  you  can  just  squelch  him,  Uncle  David — I  know  you  will,  for 
he's  horrid.  I've  waited  this  whole  week  before  saying  anything, 
thinking  he'd  want  to  come/' 

"  My  dear,  are  you  sure  you  are  fair  to  him  ?  " 

"  There's  nothing  to  be  fair  about,"  said  Peggy,  with  an  ear- 
nestness that  made  her  uncle  laugh.  "  You'll  think  so,  too.  Of 
course,  he'll  come  here — just  let  him,  if  he  pleases,  and  I  know 
you'll  dislike  him  as  much  as  we  do." 

"But,  Peggy,"  very  gravely,  "Peggy,  Peggy,  do  you  think 
Lucile  cares  for  him  ?  " 

"  Uncle  David,  I'm  afraid — she  did." 

"  If  she  did,  she  does.  Something  good  in  him  must  attract 
her.  Remember,  each  eye  looks  at  people  in  its  own  peculiar 
way,  and  because  you  dislike  him —  You  have  no  reasons  to  do 
so,  Peggy?" 

"  None,"  she  confessed.     "  Only,  uncle,  he's  horrid." 

"  Lucile  has  good  judgment,"  gravely.  "  Why  doesn't  she 
think  so?" 

"  You  don't  mean — Uncle  David — you  don't  mean  you  would 
take  his  part?"  aghast. 

"No — and — yes.  If  I  think  him  fair  and  honest,  and  if  he 
loves  Lucile  and  she  loves  him,  well,  Peggy,  one  has  no  right  to 
judge  by  impressions.  Impressions  count  for  nothing — not  even 
Lucile's  that  he  is  a  paragon,  if  he  turns  out  the  dreadful  fellow 
you  picture  him." 


83  CALAMITY. 

But  despite  this  example  of  his  own  fairness  and  his  honesty, 
when  Paul  Noble  came — which,  true  to  Peggy's  prediction,  he 
did  the  following  week,  David  Tarrant  owned  to  a  secret  sympathy 
with  her  dislike.  He  made  the  man  welcome,  placed  the  hos- 
pitality of  their  home  at  his  command — and,  after  that,  watched 
matters  as  they  developed.  He  felt  that  Noble  should  bring 
things  to  a  crisis,  that  Noble  should  declare  his  intentions,  tell 
him  what  he  proposed  doing,  give  his  credentials  as  to  his  respect- 
ability. 

But  Noble  did  none  of  these  things. 

He  had  come,  ostensibly,  as  Will's  invited  guest.  Will  had 
received  a  letter  from  him  and  Will  had  answered  it,  after  con- 
sulting his  father,  cordially  asking  him  to  spend  a  few  weeks 
with  them.  And  Noble  came  and  Will  saw  little  of  him.  He  was 
Lucile's  shadow.  At  the  end  of  the  first  week,  when  Mr.  Tar- 
rant  had  heard  nothing  from  his  guest  and  daughter's  possible 
lover,  he  wrote  very  quietly  to  a  firm  of  lawyers  with  whom  he 
had  transactions  in  the  Western  city  which  Paul  Noble  declared 
to  be  his  birthplace.  Awaiting  a  reply,  he  let  things  take  their 
course.  He  was  cordial,  open,  and  if  a  slight  reserve  rather 
chilled  the  heartiness  of  his  manner  at  times,  that  might  be  put 
down  to  shortness  of  acquaintance. 

The  day  that  was  to  be  such  a  portentous  one  for  them  all 
dawned  at  last.  Mr.  Tarrant  said  nothing  when  he  broke  open 
the  letter  for  which  he  had  been  waiting  three  full  weeks  now; 
the  days  were  passing  and  Noble  was  still  present.  Several 


CALAMITY.  83 

times  he  had  spoken  of  leaving  and  going  to  the  hotel  in  the  town 
proper,  but  there  was  a  general  demur.  Now,  Mr.  Tarrant  read 
his  letter  through,  folded  it  again,  replaced  it  in  its  envelope. 
He  was  very  pleasant,  indeed,  but  Peggy  noticed  that  he  ate  no 
breakfast.  She  was  much  worried  at  the  way  affairs  were  going. 
Leila  and  Charlie  were  at  home  in  The  Laurels,  Mr.  Tarrant's 
old  dwelling,  and  her  place  was  ready  for  her  with  them,  but 
she  felt  that  to  leave  would  be  to  deprive  Lucile  of  some  sort  of 
protection.  She  treated  Noble  with  bare  civility,  nothing  more, 
and  he  reciprocated  in  kind,  for  he  had  little  liking  for  this  fear- 
less, contemptuous  young  girl. 

"  Will  you  come  into  the  library  before  you  go  out  this  morn- 
ing, Mr.  Noble  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Tarrant,  very  quietly,  as  they  rose 
from  the  table.  "  I  have  something  to  say  to  you." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Paul  Noble. 

The  simple  words  affected  every  one  of  the  party  excepting 
Will  Tarrant.  He  glanced  expectantly  at  Peggy,  but  her  eyes 
were  on  her  uncle's  face.  Lucile  flushed  a  little.  Her  lover 
looked  at  her  with  a  question  in  his  eyes.  Then  he  followed  Mr. 
Tarrant  at  once. 

It  was  an  unpleasant  moment  for  both  men.  Paul  Noble  ex- 
pected what  was  coming,  but  Mr.  Tarrant  was  much  distressed. 

"  Mr.  Noble,"  he  said  gravely,  "  the  courtesy  and  hospitality  of 
my  home  have  been  yours  for  several  weeks.  I  regret  very  much 
at  having  to  ask  you  to  read  this  letter  and  to  explain  the  ac- 
cusations contained  therein." 


84  CALAMITY. 

Paul  Noble  took  the  letter.  He  started  when  he  recognized 
the  lawyers'  names,  and  saw  the  city  from  which  it  had  arrived. 

"  They  say  that  you  come  of  a  good  family ;  but  that  you  have 
gambled  away  all  of  your  inheritance ;  that  you  drink  very  heavily, 
and  that  your  associates  have  not  always  been  men  of  law  and 
order." 

Paul  Noble  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Does  what  I  have  been  in  the  past  count  against  me  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  Am  I  to  have  no  chance  for  a  future  ?  " 

"  You  are  thinking  of  a  future,  then  ?  "  questioned  Mr.  Tar- 
rant. 

"  Yes/'  said  Paul  Noble,  boldly.  "  Give  me  Lucile,  and  I 
shall  show  you — show  every  one,  what  I  can  make  of  myself." 

Mr.   Tarrant  smiled. 

"  A  modest  request,"  he  said,  with  sarcasm.  "  You  must  im- 
agine I  am  anxious  to  get  rid  of  my  daughter.  I  would  think 
quite  a  while  before  giving  her  to  any  man,  but  to  you —  We 
will  consider  the  matter  closed." 

"  You  refuse  to  consent  to  my  marriage  with  Lucile  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  listened  to  any  such  request  from  you — nor  do  I 
intend  to  listen,  sir.  Your  audacity  is  unparalleled.  Let  me  re- 
mind you  that  a  man,  if  he  had  any  honor  left,  with  a  record  like 
this  back  of  him,"  he  struck  the  paper  sharply,  "  would  not  pre- 
sume to  ask  the  hand  of  such  a  girl  as  Lucile  Tarrant  without 
first  trying  to  prove  to  the  world  that  he  has  attempted  to  be 
worthy  of  her.  If  your  love,  sir,  is  the  right  kind  of  love,  you 


CALAMITY.  85 

will  take  yourself  away  immediately,  set  to  work  to  live  down  this 
character,  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  begin  again,  prove  yourself.  If 
you  come  back  at  the  end  of  a  few  years  and  show  me  a  clean 
record  I  will  consider  the  matter — that  is,  if  Lucile  has  not 
changed  her  mind." 

"  But—" 

"  Sir,  I  have  spoken  my  last  word.  Believe  me  I  have  only 
said  this  much  because  I  fear  that  Lucile  has  become  attached 
to  you.  I  know  my  daughter,  and  you  can  rest  assured  that  when 
I  show  her  this  letter — " 

"  You  will  show  her  this  letter — " 

"  Excepting  on  certain  conditions." 

Noble  folded  his  arms  doggedly. 

"  Name  them." 

"  Go  away — at  once — make  what  explanation  you  care  to  and 
what  promises.  Go,  and  try  to  make  a  man  of  yourself.  Keep 
away.  Let  me  hear  from  you  if  you  wish — I  shall  be  glad  to. 
But  do  not  speak  to  Lucile  until  you  have  done  your  best  to  be 
worthy  of  her.  On  these  conditions  I  shall  not  show  her  this 
letter." 

"  A  clever  scheme  to  get  rid  of  me,"  said  Noble,  moodily. 

"  Allow  me  to  bid  you  good  morning,"  said  Mr.  Tarrant. 
Inwardly  he  was  fuming.  The  man  appeared  in  so  contemptible 
a  light !  Had  he  been  humble,  had  he  asked  time,  had  he  pleaded 
any  sort  of  weakness,  Mr.  Tarrant  would  have  listened,  sympa- 
thized with,  helped  him. 


86  CALAMITY. 

"  You  may  make  your  daughter  very  wretched — have  you 
thought  of  that  ?  "  asked  Noble. 

"  Single  wretchedness  is  more  bearable  than  double  misery/' 
said  Mr.  Tarrant.  "  You  must  understand,  being  a  man  of  the 
world —  What  was  that?" 

For  at  that  moment  a  shot  rang  through  the  house;  there 
was  the  sound  of  a  heavy  body  falling  in  the  room  above  them — 
falling  with  a  thud  that  seemed  to  shake  the  floor  beneath  them. 
Mr.  Tarrant  stared  at  Paul  Noble,  and  his  face  turned  to  a  sickly 
pallor.  He  held  on  to  the  table  for  support,  his  chin  falling  on 
his  breast. 

"  That  was  in  the  gun-room,"  he  said.  "  My  wife —  You 
heard—" 

"  An  accident,"  said  Noble,  briefly.  "  Let  us  find  out  what 
has  happened." 

"  My  wife,"  repeated  Mr.  Tarrant ;  his  limbs  were  trembling. 
"  She  has  not  been  well — " 

But  at  that  moment  a  piercing  scream  rang  through  the  hall 
above  them.  Shriek  after  shriek  fell  upon  the  air,  and  then 
words  became  distinguishable. 

"  Is  there  a  curse  upon  me — is  there  a  curse  upon  me?  Will, 
my  son,  my  son,  my  son !  " 


LUCILE  AND  HER  FATHER.  87 


CHAPTER   IX. 

LUCILE   AND   HER   FATHER. 

"  Is  there  a  curse  upon  me  ?  " 

Those  who  ran  at  the  sound  of  Mrs.  Tarrant's  screams  never 
forgot  the  sight  that  met  their  eyes.  She  was  kneeling  on  the 
floor,  with  her  son's  head  upon  her  breast,  blood  streaming  from 
a  wound  in  the  forehead.  The  gun  lying  beside  them,  the  oil 
and  rags  with  which  he  had  been  cleaning  it,  told  the  occasion  of  the 
frightful  accident.  The  bullet  had  gone  straight  through  the 
brain  and  death  had  been  instantaneous.  The  effect  of  that 
scene  filled  every  one  with  horror.  They  stood  transfixed,  too 
awed  to  move,  while  the  mother  still  knelt  with  her  son  in  her 
arms. 

"  0  God,  I  am  accursed !  0  God,  I  am  accursed ! "  she 
moaned,  over  and  over. 

Truly,  it  seemed  as  if  misfortune  had  taken  up  its  abode  with 
the  Tarrants.  Leila's  protracted  illness,  little  David's  sudden 
death,  and  Aunt  Hannah's.  After  which,  most  frightful  of  all, 
came — this.  No  wonder  David  Tarrant  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands,  bitter  moans  bursting  from  his  lips,  his  chest  heaving. 
No  wonder  Lucile  stood  with  staring  eyes  and  ashen  face — or  that 


88  LVCILE  AND  HER  FATHER. 

Peggy  crouched  close  against  the  door  holding  to  it  for  support, 
her  gaze  fastened  on  the  distorted  features  of  the  young  man  who, 
not  half  an  hour  before,  had  left  her  with  a  gay  word  on  his  lips. 

Paul  Noble  was  the  first  to  recover  himself. 

He  advanced  to  Mrs.  Tarrant's  side,  and  stooping,  took  her 
son  from  her.  She  pushed  him  off  with  the  gesture  of  a  mad- 
woman. But  he  bent  and  looked  straight  at  her,  and  held  her 
gaze,  and  as  she  watched  him,  half-fascinated,  he  loosened  her 
fingers  and  gently  placed  the  young  man  on  the  floor,  closing  the 
lids  over  the  upturned  eyes  and  decently  composing  the  limbs, 
knowing  that  in  a  very  little  while  it  would  be  impossible  to  do 
so.  Not  one  moved,  not  a  word  was  said,  while  he  acted  in  this 
manner,  and  all  his  attention  was  riveted,  apparently,  upon  the 
mother.  She  seemed  to  be  cowed  by  his  glance.  Then  he  lifted 
her  to  her  feet,  and  took  her  in  his  arms  as  if  she  had  been  a  child. 

"  Show  me  her  room/*  he  said  to  Peggy.  Peggy  was  as  near 
to  liking  him  then  as  she  ever  got.  Trembling  violently,  she  led 
the  way  to  Mrs.  Tarrant's  room  and  entering  he  placed  her  upon 
the  bed. 

"  Tell  Mr.  Tarrant  to  come/'  he  said.  "  He  must  stay  with 
her.  And  telephone  for  the  physician." 

Peggy  flew  to  obey  him.  One  message  she  did  not  have  to 
give,  for  Mr.  Tarrant  was  following  them;  Peggy  went  down- 
stairs to  call  up  Dr.  Spencer,  and  Paul  Noble  gave  place  to  the 
stricken  father,  who  could  merely  fall  heavily  into  a  chair.  He 
reached  over  and  clasped  his  wife's  hands,  checking  the  bitter 


LUCILE  AND  HER  FATHER.  89 

moans  that  had  been  falling  from  his  lips  in  the  presence  of  the 
fright  and  horror  on  her  face. 

Then  Paul  Noble  left  them.  Lucile  was  standing  in  the  same 
position  as  when  her  mother's  scream  startled  her,  and  brought 
her  to  the  gun-room.  She  was  staring  down  at  her  brother's  pros- 
trate form.  Noble  put  both  his  arms  about  her  and  his  lips  sought 
her  forehead. 

"  My  Lucile !     My  darling !  "  he  said,  tenderly. 

"  He  is — dead  ?  "  she  whispered. 

"  Yes,  dear.     Come  away — this  is  no  place  for  you." 

"  Paul,  please,  please  look  ?    He  may  not  be  dead — just  look.'* 

"  Lucile,  there  is  no  use." 

"To  satisfy  me?" 

"  To  satisfy  you  ?  "  He  released  her  instantly,  and  went  over 
to  Will's  side.  The  face  of  the  unfortunate  young  man  was 
quite  cold;  the  limbs  were  already  stiffening.  Unbuttoning  his 
vest,  Paul  Noble  placed  his  hand  upon  the  quiet  heart.  Then, 
feeling  in  the  pocket  of  the  light  house  coat  he  found  a  white 
handkerchief.  He  shook  it  from  its  folds  and  spread  it  very 
gently  across  the  peaceful  face. 

Lucile  watched  him  in  utter  silence.  Not  one  of  his  move- 
ments escaped  her.  When  he  rose  from  the  ground  slowly  and 
stood  looking  down  at  what  had  been,  so  short  a  while  before,  a 
form  instinct  with  life  and  health,  a  quiver  shot  through  him. 
Still  Lucile  watched.  He  went  to  her  side  and  held  out  his  hand 
to  her. 


90  LVCILE  AND  HER  FATHER. 

"  Will  you  come  now,  Lucile  ?  "  he  asked,  simply. 

She  covered  her  eyes  with  her  fingers. 

"  Lucile !  "  he  said,  in  passionate  tones,  "  I  would  to  heaven 
I  were  lying  right  there — I  would  to  heaven  it  had  been  my  worth- 
less self — " 

"  Oh,  no ! "  she  clung  to  him,  then,  sobbing.     "  Oh,  do  not 

talk  so — do  not  talk  so — you  do  not  know  what  you  are  saying. 
Oh,  Paul,  my  brother,  my  poor  brother ! " 

He  put  his  arms  around  her  fiercely. 

"  Dearest !  "  he  said.    "  Dearest !    Be  brave,  come  away." 

She  permitted  him  to  lead  her  from  the  apartment,  down  the 
stairs,  and  into  the  morning-room.  She  sank  into  a  chair  and 
he  knelt  beside  her. 

"  I  meant  to  have  been  on  my  way  by  this/'  he  said.  "  But 
now  I  shall  stay  while  I  can  be  of  service  to  you.  After  that — "" 

"  After  that  ?  "  She  looked  at  him  with  terror.  "  What  do 
you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  am  sent  away,  Lucile.     I  must  leave  you." 

"But  why?" 

"  I  am  not  worthy  of  you.  I  have  nothing  to  offer  you.  There- 
fore I  must  go." 

"  My  father  said  that  ?  My  father  ?  But  he  does  not  under- 
stand— he  does  not  know  that  I  have  promised  to  marry  you, 
Paul ;  that  I  love  you.  Did  you  tell  him  that  ?  " 

"  No,  Lucile — I  could  not.  Nor  must  you — not,  at  any  rate 
while  I  remain." 


LVCILE  AND  HER  FATHER.  91 

"  And  you  are  going — actually  going  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  bated 
voice. 

"  Yes." 

"  But  you  have  said — " 

"  Lucile,  I  know.  I  shall  write  to  you — I  shall  see  you  again, 
but  not  here.  I  shall  arrange  it  so  that  I  can  see  you.  But  at  pres- 
ent we  must  not  talk  of  these  things — not  while  there  is  such 
trouble.  Your  father  is  right — I  have  nothing.  I  must  go  away 
until  I  can  do  what  he  expects  me  to.  But  I  shall  come  back, 
Lucile ;  I  shall  come  back  to  you,  dear.  Be  true  to  me/' 

Her  face  hardened,  her  eyes  were  flashing. 

"  Because  you  have  nothing !  "  she  said.  "  Well,  we  shall  see 
how  far  that  goes  with  me,  Paul.  You  do  not  think  that  /  would 
share  such  sordid  sentiments  ?  "  She  bent  over  him,  and  her  lipg 
tightened.  "  When  you  are  ready  I  shall  marry  you,  Paul." 

He  looked  at  her  quickly — then  holding  her  hands  he  bent  for- 
ward and  kissed  her. 

***** 

Events  followed  one  upon  the  other.  Will  Tarrant  was  buried, 
Paul  Noble  left  Hubbold.  Peggy's  duty  was  with  the  Tarrants, 
and  with  them  she  remained.  The  household  was  indeed  a 
stricken  one.  Mr.  Tarrant  had  grown  twenty  years  older  in  ap- 
pearance— his  hair  was  quite  gray.  Mrs.  Tarrant  spent  half  her 
day  in  bed;  and  Lucile  went  about  white-faced  and  hollow-eyed, 
with  a  mournful  expression  that  had  never  before  been  present 
on  her  beautiful,  proud  face.  She  loved  her  father  too  dearly 


92  LUCILE  AND  HER  FATHER 

to  think  of  broaching  the  subject  of  the  absent  Noble  while  Will's 
death  was  so  fresh  a  wound — nevertheless,  his  absence  hurt  her. 
She  would  not  talk  of  him  to  Peggy,  she  could  not  talk  of  him 
to  Mr.  Tarrant,  so  that  she  had  no  one  to  confide  in.  Mr.  Tar- 
rant  was  too  wrapped  up  in  his  sorrow  and  in  worriment  over 
his  wife's  state  of  health  to  pay  any  particular  attention  to  Lucile. 
His  comfort  in  those  days  was  Charlie  Stanton's  daily  presence 
at  the  Mills,  and  it  was  Charlie  who,  in  the  end,  brought  Lucile 
to  her  father's  consideration : 

"  Ted  Saunders  was  to  see  me  last  night,"  he  said,  casually. 
"  He  met  Peggy  and  Lucile  one  day  last  week — you  don't  suppose 
now,  Uncle  Tarrant,  that  there's  any  hope  for  Teddy  ?  " 

"  With  Lucile?  "  Mr.  Tarrant  shook  his  head.  "  No,  Charlie 
—I  don't.  Why?  Has  he  said— " 

"  Nothing,  uncle — excepting  that  he  seemed  quite  down- 
hearted over  her  appearance.  She's  not  sick,  is  she  ?  " 

"  Why,  no/'  said  Mr.  Tarrant,  hesitatingly.     "  Will's  death—" 

"  Of  course — I  told  Ted  Saunders  that.  He  said  she  ought  to 
get  away  from  the  place  for  a  while — you  know  how  splendidly 
well  she  looked  when  she  came  back  from  Lakewood.  Let  her 
go  again.  And  it  won't  be  as  if  it  were  a  strange  place —  She's 
acquainted  there." 

"  Why,  certainly,  Charlie,  if  she  wants  to,"  said  Mr.  Tarrant. 
"  I  wouldn't  think  twice  about  it — but,  to  tell  the  truth,  my 
boy,  I  wasn't  dreaming  of  Lucile.  Your  Aunt  Mary's  mind  is 
in  a  frightful  condition — I  can't  imagine  what  ails  the  woman. 


LUCILE  AND  HER  FATHER.  93 

If  we  could  send  her  away,  too,  with  some  good  nurse — that  Miss 
Day  you  had.  But  no — the  very  suggestion  fairly  seems  to  kill 
her.  I'm  afraid  she'd  die  in  a  week  if  I  sent  her  off  against  her 
will.  Charlie,  when  do  you  think  the  old  quiet  times  will  come 
back?  I  have  never  known  a  happy  hour  since  I  quit  The 
Laurels  and  went  to  live  with  Hannah.  There  must  be  a  curse  on 
Hannah's  money."  He  spoke  with  wistful  eyes  fastened  on  his 
nephew's  face.  "  It  is  because  the  money  doesn't  belong  to  us — 
let  us  distribute  it  fairly,  boy — " 

"  Uncle  Tarrant,  I  have  all  I  need — there  is  no  sense  in  having 
too  much,"  said  Charlie.  "  And  Leila  is  busily  occupied  now, 
whereas  if  we  had  wealth,  she  might  have  time  to  brood  over  past 
troubles.  If  I  need  it  I  will  ask  you  for  it — that  I  promise. 
For  the  present  let  matters  rest  the  way  they  are." 

And  although  not  satisfied  with  this,  Mr.  Tarrant  had  to  let  the 
thing  drop.  At  dinner  that  night  he  spoke  to  Lucile.  They 
were  alone — Peggy  having  gone  to  Charlie's  late  in  the  after- 
noon, arranging  to  remain  there  for  the  evening. 

"  Would  you  care  to  go  back  to  Lakewood  for  a  while,  Lucile  ?  " 
he  asked,  very  gently. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  responded  in  a  listless  tone.     "  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  I  think  you  would  feel  better,  dear,  if  you  left  Hub- 
bold." 

Lucile  looked  at  him  gravely. 

"  I  left  Hubbold  once  before,"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  he  answered.     "Yes — you  did." 


94  LUCILE  AND  HER  FATHER. 

"  Father !  "  with  a  quick  change  of  tone.  "  Why  did  you  send 
him  away  ?  " 

"  Child,  I  had  to — I  could  not  consent  to  your  marriage  with 
him — he  is  not  worthy  of  you/' 

"  And  money  has  that  much  weight  with  my  father  ?  " 

"  Money  ?  What  is  that  ?  Nothing.  Money  has  nothing  to 
do  with  it.  Lucile,  dear  girl,  if  he  loves  you  rightly  he'll  come 
back  again." 

She  looked  at  him,  a  peculiar  smile  wreathing  her  lips. 

"  He  will  come  back  again,"  she  said. 

A  pang  went  through  David  Tarrant's  sorely  tried  heart — 
if  he  but  dared  to  show  her  the  lawyers'  letter !  But  he  had  given 
his  word,  and  Paul  Noble  had  claimed  that  word  before  he  left. 
With  kindly  intent,  and  moved  to  friendliness  by  the  young  man's 
thought  for  them  all  when  death  overshadowed  the  house,  Mr. 
Tarrant  had  advised  him  to  throw  himself  on  Lucile's  leniency — 
to  tell  her  all  himself,  and  trust  to  her  to  wait  for  him  until  he 
proved  his  worthiness. 

But  this  Paul  Noble  would  not  listen  to,  and  after  giving  his 
word  that  he  would  not  try  to  see  Lucile  until  her  father  approved 
of  it,  he  went  away.  Now  David  Tarrant  believed  that  Lucile 
was  embittered  because  of  this,  and  her  words  intensified  the 
belief.  It  was  more  than  he  could  bear.  He  sank  into  a  chair, 
a  groan  passing  his  lips,  and  Lucile  forgot  all  her  feeling  of  re- 
sentment then.  She  sprang  toward  him  and  put  her  arms  about 
him. 


LUCILE  AND  HER  FATHER.  95 

"  Father,  dear,  dear  father — do  not  feel  so  badly.  I  have  no 
right  to  worry  you  when  you  are  so  harassed — forgive  me — " 

He  clasped  her  to  him  quickly. 

"  Lucile,  have  I  ever  denied  you  anything  I  thought  you 
wanted?  I  would  not  deny  you  this  man's  affection  if  I 
thought—" 

"  But,  father,"  she  spoke  quickly,  "  why  did  you  send  him 
away  ?  There  was  room  for  him  here — you  could  have  tested  him 
here,  if  you  felt  any  test  was  necessary." 

"  Child,  I  could  not.  If  you  saw  him  every  day,  met  him  at 
every  turn,  you  would  win  my  consent  in  spite  of  my  own  good 
judgment.  You  may  live  to  thank  me.  And  now,  Lucile,  tell 
me,  dear — do  you  care  to  go  to  Lakewood  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  suddenly,  "  if  I  may  go  alone." 

"  Just  as  you  please,"  he  answered.  "  And  to  stay  as  long  as 
you  like." 

He  felt  her  tremble  in  his  arms.  Then  she  turned  her  face  to 
his  and  kissed  him. 

"  You  know  that  I  love  Paul  Xoble,  father?  " 

"Yes,  dear." 

"  Do  you  think,  in  time,  I  could  forget  him  ?  That  he  would  be 
nothing  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  think,  Lucile,  that  you  can  do  whatever  you  make  up 
your  mind  to  do." 

"My  mind!     But  my  heart,  father?" 

He  did  not  answer. 


96  LUCILE  AND  HER  FATHER. 

"I  shall  never  forget  him,"  she  said,  gently.    "That  is  all. 
She  kissed  him  once  more,  with  great  tenderness.    "  Thank  you 
— for  being  so  good  to  me." 


PEGGY  MAKES  A  DISCOVERT.  97 


CHAPTER   X. 

PEGGY   MAKES   A   DISCOVERY. 

AND  now  began  a  lonely  time  for  the  Lady  Peggy — and  a  try- 
ing time.  For  some  unaccountable  reason  Mrs.  Tarrant  had 
taken  the  greatest  dislike  to  Lucile,  and,  probably  for  the  same  un- 
accountable reason,  from  the  morning  that  Lucile  entered  her 
room  to  kiss  her  good-by  before  she  went  away,  as  in  duty  bound, 
she  seemed  to  recover  more  of  her  old-time  state  of  health.  She 
began  to  make  demands  on  Peggy's  time  and  services — slightly 
enough  at  first,  but  the  little  maid,  delighted  leyond  measure 
to  be  of  use,  submitted  willingly.  It  seemed,  after  a  while,  that 
Mrs.  Tarrant  could  not  bear  to  have  her  out  of  her  sight — nor  did 
Peggy  begrudge  one  moment  that  she  gave  to  her. 

Being  so  busily  occupied  the  girl  did  not  feel  the  weeks  slipping 
away.  An  occasional  visit  to  Charlie's — whither  Teddy  Saunders 
always  managed  to  accompany  her — was  her  only  diversion;  very 
rarely  Leila  came  to  the  Hall,  but  her  pretty  face  and  gentle  man- 
ners had  little  effect  on  Mrs.  Tarrant.  She  took  no  notice  01  her, 
although  glad  enough  to  see  Charlie. 

Lucile  had  been  gone  almost  three  months.  The  letters  she 
gent  home  were  brief,  but  short  as  they  were  Peggy  never  failed 


98  PEGQY  MAKES  A  DISCOVERT. 

to  read  them  aloud  to  the  mother.  She  said  nothing.  She  lis- 
tened, but  one  could  scarcely  tell  if  she  heard,  and  when  Peggy  an- 
swered them,  she  added  the  mother's  love  and  affectionate  re- 
membrances with  the  feeling  that  her  Aunt  Mary  cared  nothing. 
Such  a  state  of  things  was  unnatural,  and  more  than  once  Peggy 
marveled  at  it,  and  asked  herself  what  could  possibly  lie  under 
this  apathy — bordering  on  actual  dislike — toward  her  only  living 
child. 

In  another  matter  Peggy  was  religiously  faithful — she  took 
care  of  Aunt  Hannah's  room  as  if  the  old  lady  had  just  left  it 
and  would  return  at  any  moment.  Everything  was  as  Aunt  Han- 
nah had  had  it  during  her  lifetime,  immaculately  clean  and  spot- 
less, for  Peggy  had  always  "  righted  "  the  room  for  her  aunt  from 
the  time  she  had  been  grown  up  enough  to  understand  what 
"  righting  "  meant  in  poor  Aunt  Hannah's  parlance.  She  was  the 
only  one  who  entered  it,  she  knew,  and  after  a  while  it  became  a 
duty  with  her  to  throw  the  windows  open  every  week,  and  put 
fresh  flowers  in  the  tall  vase  on  Aunt  Hannah's  polished  table. 

This  morning  she  had  a  big  bunch  of  hothouse  roses  in  her 
hand,  and,  with  a  girl's  natural  love  of  the  beautiful,  was  holding 
them  up  so  that  they  covered  her  face.  She  had  left  Aunt  Han- 
nah's door  ajar  when  she  went  downstairs  to  get  them — now  she 
saw  with  surprise  that  some  one  had  thrown  it  wide  open.  Peggy 
might  have  been  alarmed  had  not  the  glorious  sunlight  been 
streaming  clear  into  the  room,  out  into  the  hall.  In  its  light  the 
girl  saw  her  Aunt  Mary. 


PEGGY  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY.  99 

She  stopped  short. 

"  Why,  I  did  not  know  you  ever  came  here/7  she  said,  smiling. 
"  If  you'll  wait  for  me — I  just  want  to  put  these  flowers  in  the 
vase,  and  then  I'll  run  into  your  room  to  finish  that  story  for 
you.  We  had  to  put  it  down  at  the  interesting  part  yester- 
day-" 

She  would  not  notice  the  queer  expression  on  her  Aunt  Mary's 
face,  nor  the  trembling  of  her  hands,  nor  the  flush  in  her  cheeks. 
She  thought  it  unwise  of  the  older  woman  to  come  here,  but  Peggy 
was  not  the  girl  to  tell  her  so. 

"  Hurry,  Peggy,  then,"  she  said — and  Peggy  heard  her  walk 
rapidly  along  the  hall.  Then  came  the  bang  of  a  door.  Shaking 
her  head,  the  girl  went  inside,  humming  the  air  of  a  song  under 
her  breath,  and  arranged  the  flowers. 

Then  she  looked  about  her. 

"  Poor  Aunt  Hannah !  "  she  said,  a  little  wistfully.  "  She 
could  come  right  in  now — and  never  know  she  had  been  away  at 
all.  Poor  Aunt  Hannah!  I  wonder  what  will  happen  to  this 
room — when  no  one  cares  any  more  ?  " 

A  sad  little  smile  parted  her  lips.  She  moved  about,  putting 
finishing  touches  here  and  there.  When  she  reached  the  dresser 
she  was  surprised  at  its  disarray. 

"  I  wonder  if  Aunt  Mary  touched  these  things  ?  "  she  said. 
"That's  queer — what  was  she  doing?"  She  straightened  the 
bottles  and  cushions.  There  was  an  old-fashioned  cedarwood  box 
that  had  been  dearly  treasured  by  the  dead  occupant  of  the  room. 


100  PEGGY  MAKES  A  DISCOVERT. 

As  Peggy  put  it  into  place  again  she  noticed  that  a  slip  of  paper 
protruded  from  under  the  cover.  Involuntarily  the  girl  drew  it 
out,  unfolding  it.  Then,  seeing  that  it  was  closely  written,  she 
brought  it  over  to  the  light.  She  recognized  her  Aunt  Mary's 
angular  penmanship  at  once — and  the  scrawl  at  the  bottom — 

Aunt  Hannah's  name  in  Aunt  Hannah's  own  writing! 

Peggy  felt  a  deathly  faintness  stealing  over  her.  She  dropped 
into  a  chair,  holding  tightly  to  the  edge  of  the  window-sill.  All 
grew  dark  before  her  eyes,  so  that  for  the  moment  she  had  no 
recollection  of  her  surroundings.  First  the  date — the  very  day 
of  the  month  on  which  Aunt  Hannah  died — and  after  that — 

"  I  bequeath  unreservedly  to  my  beloved  niece  and  nephew, 
Charles  and  Margaret  Stanton,  the  whole  of  my  personal  prop- 
erty, including  the  Hubbold  Mills.  To  my  brother  David, 
$10,000 ;  to  his  wife  Mary,  $5,000 ;  to  Lucile  Tarrant,  $5,000 ;  to 
William  Tarrant,  $5,000;  the  legacies  to  my  servants  to  remain 
as  in  the  will  to  which  this  is  an  amendment. 

"  HANNAH  TARRANT  HUBBOLD." 

Peggy  picked  up  the  slip  of  paper  and  read  it  over  and  over 
again — she  could  not  believe  her  eyes — she  could  not  think — 
not  even  though  she  pressed  her  hands  to  her  head  and  tried  to 
penetrate  the  mystery.  A  noise  at  the  door  attracted  her.  Look- 
ing toward  it,  she  could  have  sworn  that  some  one  had  pushed  it 
farther  open,  that  she  heard  the  rustle  of  skirts  once  more  along 
the  hall.  Peggy  jumped  to  her  feet,  lifted  the  lid  of  the  cedar- 
wood  box  and  threw  the  slip  of  paper  into  it. 

Then  she  fled  incontinently — nor  paused  until  she  reached 


PEGGY  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY.  101 

her  own  room,  and  stood  panting  inside.  Her  face  was  very 
pale,  her  heart  beating  with  sickening  throbs. 

What  did  it  mean? 

It  was  in  Aunt  Mary's  handwriting,  and  Aunt  Hannah  had 
signed  it  ...  what  did  it  mean? 

Slowly  the  conviction  forced  itself  upon  her — the  conviction 
that  this  was  the  latest  expression  of  Aunt  Hannah's  wishes — 

But  how  had  it  come  to  be  in  Aunt  Mary's  writing?  A 
sudden  chill  made  Peggy's  teeth  chatter.  Aunt  Mary  had  hidden 
that  bit  of  paper — had  known  of  its  existence  and  hidden  it.  Why  ? 

All  knew  the  contents  of  the  will  that  the  mistress  of  Hub- 
bold  had  had  drawn  up  when  Charlie  Stanton  angered  her  by 
his  marriage  to  a  Catholic.  Aunt  Hannah  had  made  no  secret  of 
that  will.  But  here  was  evidence  that  on  her  death-bed  she 
had  changed  her  mind. 

The  clouds  seemed  growing  thicker  and  thicker.  How  had  the 
paper  found  its  way  into  the  cedarwood  box?  The  articles  on 
the  dressing-table  had  been  disarranged,  the  box  moved — had  Aunt 
Mary  placed  it  there  intentionally?  Had  she  meant  Peggy  to 
see  it? 

Peggy  could  not  answer  this — it  seemed  so  improbable  that 
Mrs.  Tarrant  could  have  concealed  the  paper  and  then  deliberately 
put  it  in  her  way.  She  half-rose  to  her  feet — she  would  go  to 
her  aunt  and  ask  her  to  explain. 

With  her  hand  upon  the  knob  she  paused.  She  had  forgotten 
Uncle  David.  Was  she  'to  bring  another  misfortune  upon  his 


109  PEGGY  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY. 

head?  Not  loss  of  money — Uncle  David  cared  little  for  that; 
but  loss  of  faith  in  the  woman  who  had  been  his  wife  thirty 
years?  Strange  that  Peggy,  so  yonng  and  child-like,  should 
stand  there  and  ponder  on  that  crowning  blow  to  the  good  old 
man.  He  had  borne  sorrow  unflinchingly — but  disgrace?  How 
would  he  bear  the  disgrace  of  learning  this? 

Slowly  Peggy's  hand  dropped  from  the  knob;  slowly  she 
turned  back  into  the  room.  She  did  not  know  even  now  what  to 
do,  but  she  was  resolved  that  Uncle  David  should  not  suffer  this 
through  her. 

But  was  it  fair  to  Charlie?  Once  again  that  feeling  of 
irresoluteness  possessed  the  girl.  With  this  new  knowledge  came 
the  knowledge  also  that  her  beloved  brother  was  being  kept  out  of 
his  rightful  due. 

"  Charlie  would  agree  with  me,"  she  argued,  half  aloud.  "  I 
know  he  would.  Uncle  David  must — " 

A  tapping  at  the  door  disturbed  her.  She  turned  in  her 
chair  impatiently. 

"  Who  is  there  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Mrs.  Tarrant  wants  you,  Miss  Peggy/'  said  one  of  the 
maids. 

But  Peggy  did  not  respond  to  the  call.  Peggy  was  arguing 
with  herself,  settling  a  question  to  her  own  satisfaction.  There 
was  a  strange  look  in  her  eyes  as  she  rose  at  last,  and  went  out 
to  obey  her  aunt's  summons.  Mrs.  Tarrant  was  lying  on  the 
couch — she  did  not  move  when  Peggy  entered;  the  girl,  without 


PE&GY  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY.  108 

hesitation,  crossed  the  room  and  looked  down  at  her.  Strange 
as  was  the  expression  in  Peggy's  eyes,  there  was  one  here  to  match 
it.  Question,  doubt,  relief — even  a  little  regret. 

"  Are  you  coming  to  finish  the  story  for  me  now  ?  "  she  asked, 
v-  quite  naturally. 

"  Yes,"  said  Peggy.     "  But  I've  got  one  to  tell  you." 

There  was  something  like  grim  Aunt  Hannah  in  the  girl's 
demeanor — a  likeness  to  her  in  the  resolute  curves  of  this  young 
face. 

"  The  story  I  have  to  tell  I  found  in  the  cedarwood  box  on 
Aunt  Hannah's  dressing-case,"  said  Peggy,  slowly.  "  It  is  there 
yet.  I  have  put  it  back  again." 

"Yes?"  asked  Mrs.  Tarrant. 

"  Yes.     I'm  going  to  forget  that  story." 

Mrs.  Tarrant  stared  at  her  as  if  she  could  not  believe  her 
ears.  Then  a  mirthless  smile  curved  her  thin  mouth. 

"  There  must  be  insanity  in  your  family,"  she  said. 

"  But  not  dishonesty,"  said  Peggy,  steadily. 

Mrs.  Tarrant  winced. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Nothing  excepting  that  which  you  know  I  mean.  Get  that 
slip  from  the  cedarwood  box — do  as  you  please  with  it — but  do  not 
leave  it  where  curious  people  may  find  it.  That's  all." 

"  Would  you  mind,"  her  cold  voice  reached  Peggy  at  the 
door,  "  would  you  mind  answering  one  question  before  you  go  ?  " 

Peggy  turned.     "  I  will  answer  as  many  as  you  like." 


104  PE&QY  MAKES  A.  DISCOVERY. 

"  Then  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean/'  said  Peggy.  "  That  I  know  Aunt  Hannah  left 
that  as  a  codicil  to  her  will.  I  know  that  you  wrote  it — it  is  in 
your  handwriting,  and  that  Aunt  Hannah  signed  it.  I  know  that 
if  Uncle  David  were  to  get  that  now,  the  disgrace  of  it  would  kill 
him.  Oh,  to  think  that  the  wife  he  so  honors  and  respects  could 
be  guilty  of  such  a  deed!  Spare  your  husband  this  discovery, 
Aunt  Mary.  He  shall  never  hear  it  from  me." 

The  older  woman  fairly  cowered. 

"  Peggy !  "  she  said,  "  come  back — don't  go ;  come  back  here. 
In  the  name  of  Heaven,  what  do  you  mean?  That  you  will  not 
make  a  move  to  claim  your  property  ?  Hubbold  and  the  Mills  are 
yours  and  Charlie's — do  you  understand  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Peggy.  "Charlie  and  I  are  one.  We  love 
Uncle  David,  and  are  grateful  to  him  for  what  he  has  done  and 
offered  to  do  for  us.  But  I  don't  think  that  any  trouble  he  has 
ever  known  could  make  him  so  unhappy  as  the  knowledge  of  this, 
Aunt  Mary.  He  wouldn't  mind  the  money — I  know  Uncle  David. 
Oh,  Aunt  Mary,  how  could  you — how  could  you !  " 

She  began  to  sob  then.  Mary  Tarrant  looked  at  her  with 
fascinated  eyes.  She  got  up,  came  over  to  her,  stood  beside  her. 

"  Don't  cry,  Peggy,"  she  said.  "  Hush,  and  listen  to  me.  I 
want  to  understand  you  clearly.  You  mean  that  you  will  not 
take  what  Aunt  Hannah  left  you  ?  " 

"  I  mean  just  that,"  said  Peggy,  "  just  that.  And  now  let 
me  go,  Aunt  Mary — I  don't  want  to  talk  of  it  any  more." 


LUCILE    COMES    HOME.  105 


CHAPTEB   XI. 

LUCILE  COMES  HOME. 

THE  following  Thursday,  Lucile,  without  any  warning,  re- 
turned to  the  Hall. 

They  were  quite  unprepared  for  this;  nevertheless,  Mr.  Tar- 
rant  beamed  with  delight  when  he  saw  her.  Truly,  if  Lakewood 
had  improved  her  before,  this  time  she  came  back  in  perfect  health, 
happy,  smiling,  more  beautiful  than  she  had  ever  been  in  her  life. 
Everything  was  new  to  her ;  she  entered  into  the  scenes  about  her 
with  her  old-time  gaiety;  teased  Peggy  and  Teddy  Saunders; 
even  invaded  her  mother's  room  and  held  converse  with  her, 
describing  Lakewood  and  its  charms  to  a  woman  who  certainly 
was  not  responsive. 

"  Who  would  ever  believe  that  Lucile  could  get  over  her  mel- 
ancholy so  quickly !  "  exclaimed  Charlie  Stanton.  "  Why,  she's 
as  happy  as  a  lark." 

"  Yes,"  said  Leila. 

"  I  imagined  she  really  loved  Noble  there  for  a  time — you 
remember  how  sober  you  and  Peggy  were  about  it ! "  Charlie 
laughed.  "  Take  away  sentiment  from  a  woman's  life,  and  she 
wouldn't  think  it  worth  living." 


106  LUCILE    COMES    HOME. 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Leila. 

"  But  this  time  what  does  your  sentiment  amount  to  ?  Teddy 
and  I  advise  change  of  scene,  Lucile  goes  away,  presumably 
broken-hearted  over  a  man  whom  her  father  forbids  her  to  marry. 
Back  she  comes,  well,  handsomer  than  Lucile  herself.  Now,  who 
was  the  wiser  ?  " 

"  Charlie,  dear,"  said  Leila,  serenely.  "  It  is  surprising  to  me, 
considering  the  length  of  time  you  have  spent  in  my  society,  that 
you  are  not  more  clever." 

"  Thank  you,  dear.  I  shall  live  in  hopes.  But  about 
Lucile—" 

Sudden  gravity  quenched  the  smile  in  her  eyes.  She  put 
her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Wait,"  she  said.  "  Just  wait.  There's  something  un- 
natural about  Lucile.  She  is  not  the  girl  who  left  us  three 
months  ago — that's  all.  I  do  not  know  where  the  change  is:  I 
can  not  tell  yet.  But  it  is  there.  Poor  Uncle  Tarrant !  " 

"  Don't  talk  like  that,  Leila,"  said  Charlie,  almost  crossly. 
"  I  grow  angry  when  I  think  of  all  he  has  had  to  bear.  I  do  hope 
Lucile—" 

But  he  went  no  further;  he  did  not  know  what  he  would  say 
then,  and  Leila,  who  could  have  said  it  for  him,  would  not.  In- 
stead, she  stood  on  tiptoe  and  kissed  him  in  her  loving  way  and 
changed  the  conversation. 

Meantime  David  Tarrant  was  enjoying  the  first  week  of  happi- 
ness he  had  known  in  a  long  time.  Lucile  followed  him  about 


LUCILE    COMES    HOME.  107 

everywhere — she  was  always  ready  at  his  call,  she  anticipated  his 
wishes.  Mrs.  Tarrant's  manner,  too,  had  changed.  It  had  be- 
come less  indifferent.  She  seemed  yielding  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life,  and  gentle — which  the  old  man  recognized  with  keen 
pleasure.  Perhaps  he  had  this  perfect  week  to  prepare  him  for 
what  came  at  its  close.  Afterward  he  thought  of  it  wonderingly, 
looking  upon  it  in  the  light  of  a  dream. 

The  shock  came  as  suddenly  as  Will's  death  had  come.  Lucile 
was  playing  and  singing — for  a  great  wonder  Mrs.  Tarrant  had 
come  down  into  the  music-room,  and  now  sat  beside  her  husband, 
listening,  while  Peggy,  as  of  old,  turned  the  leaves.  The  sound  of 
voices  outside  the  door  did  not  disturb  them,  but  Peggy  looked 
up  expectantly.  Charlie  and  Leila  were  to  have  come  a  half- 
hour  earlier.  Instead  of  her  brother,  however,  Paul  Noble  was 
standing  on  the  threshold. 

The  girl's  exclamation  drew  the  attention  of  every  one  in  the 
room.  Mr.  Tarrant  half  rose,  suddenly  cold  and  stern.  Mrs. 
Tarrant,  after  her  first  glance  at  him,  seemed  to  shrink  into 
nothingness.  Perhaps  he  could  exercise  some  power  of  mag- 
netism that  frightened  this  woman.  Lucile,  flushing  and  paling, 
stood  on  her  feet  and  without  hesitation  advanced  to  his  side. 
There  was  something  in  her  attitude  even  then  that  struck  a 
chill  to  her  father's  heart. 

"  I  did  not  think  you  were  coming  until  to-morrow/'  she 
said. 

"  I  could  not  stay  away,"  he  answered.     He  drew  her  hand 


108  LUCILE    COMES    HOME. 

within  his  arm,  and  bent  his  handsome  eyes  to  meet  David  Tar- 
rant's  questioning  gaze. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  "I  hope  you  will  be  lenient  toward  two 
people  who  felt  they  could  not  live  without  each  other.  Lucile 
has  been  my  wife  two  months  and  a  half." 

There  was  not  a  sound  in  the  room.  David  Tarrant's  face 
went  ashen  gray.  Peggy  was  silent,  helpless.  And  again  Paul 
Noble  spoke. 

"  Will  you  bid  me  welcome  ?  "  he  asked,  in  his  musical  tones. 
"  Or  would  you  rather — " 

"  The  door  by  which  you  entered  leads  out  again,"  said  Mr. 
Tarrant,  in  a  harsh  voice.  "  Go." 

Paul  Noble  bowed. 

"Come,  Lucile,"  he  said. 

"  Lucile,  if  you  go  with  him,  you  stay  with  him,  remember," 
said  Mr.  Tarrant.  "You  have  wilfully  deceived  and  disap- 
pointed me.  That  man  gave  me  his  word  of  honor  that  he  would 
not  seek  you  until  he  had  my  permission  to  do  so.  He  has  no 
word  of  honor.  Can  you  trust  yourself  to  him  ?  " 

"  She  is  my  wife,"  said  Noble,  proudly,  "  and  as  my  wife 
her  way  is  with  me." 

"  Go,  then,"  said  David  Tarrant,  waving  his  hand.  "  I  will 
have  nothing  to  do  with  such  a  man  as  you.  No,  no,"  as  Lucile 
came  near,  and  would  have  spoken.  "  Go  with  your  husband, 
Lucile — you  have  chosen  him.  Go  with  him,  stay  with  him. 
When  he  has  proven  his  true  nature  and  you  are  willing  to 


LUCILE    COMES    HOME.  109 

acknowledge  it,  come  back.  But  come  back  alone.  Only  then 
will  I  receive  you." 

Noble  touched  her. 

"  Come/'  he  said,  and  this  time  there  was  a  command  in  his 
voice — a  command  that  made  Peggy  start  and  stare  at  Lucile 
apprehensively.  The  Lucile  she  had  known  would  have  resented 
such  peremptoriness.  But  not  this  Lucile.  Without  a  word  from 
any  one  in  the  room,  she  followed  her  husband. 

Nothing  could  fathom  the  silence  that  fell  upon  that  group 
after  the  girl  had  left.  Mrs.  Tarrant  crouched  lower  in  her  chair. 
Mr.  Tarrant  sat  back  in  his,  his  face  still  that  sickly,  deathly  hue. 
Peggy's  hands  were  loosely  folded  in  her  lap. 

Suddenly  the  crouching  figure  in  the  chair  slid  to  the  floor  and 
Mrs.  Tarrant  knelt  before  her  husband,  looking  up  into  his  face. 

"  David  !  "  she  said.     "  David !  " 

"  Wife !  "  he  answered.     "  We  are  indeed  alone !  " 

She  put  her  arms  about  him. 

"  David !  "  she  said.  "  Let  us  get  away  from  here,  where  all 
is  misery  and  unhappiness — let  us  go  back  to  The  Laurels,  where 
we  had  peace,  before  Hannah  came  with  her  money  to  tempt  us. 
Nothing  has  happened  but  calamity  since.  Let  us  give  this  up 
and  go  away — let  us  give  it  up  and  go  away.  Will  you,  David  ?  " 

"  How  can  we  ?  "  he  asked,  groaning.  "  What  is  there  left  for 
us?" 

"  Oh,  listen !  "  she  said.  "  Hubbold  is  not  ours — the  Mills 
are  not  ours — nothing  is  ours.  Hannah  changed  her  will  upon 


110  LUCILE    COMES    HOME. 

her  death-bed — and  left  everything  to  Peggy  and  Charlie.  Let 
us  get  away  from  here,  David — there  is  a  curse  on  the  place' for 
us." 

He  thought  she  was  raving,  and  with  gentle  hands  drew  her 
to  him,  patting  her  thin  cheek  tenderly.  And  now  Peggy  came 
forward. 

"  Uncle  David/'  she  said,  "  you  know  how  sick  Aunt  Mary 
has  been  since  Aunt  Hannah  died  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Tarrant. 

"  Well,  it  is  true  what  she  says  about  the  will — Aunt  Hannah 
did  change  it — and  Aunt  Mary  has  been  worrying  about  it  ever 
since.  Perhaps  it  was  mislaid  in  the  excitement.  I  found  it  the 
other  day  in  Aunt  Hannah's  cedarwood  box.  I  did,  indeed, 
Uncle  David.  Didn't  I,  Aunt  Mary?" 

There  was  a  low  murmur  from  the  woman — an  indistin- 
guishable murmur.  Then  she  roused  to  life  once  more. 

"  David !  "  she  said.  "  Forgive  me — I  could  not  help  it — I 
did  not  mean — " 

Peggy  shook  her  head  and  laid  her  fingers  on  her  lips.  Mr. 
Tarrant,  although  bewildered,  took  the  hint. 

"  It  is  all  right,"  he  said,  soothingly.  "  Don't  worry  about  it 
any  more,  Mary.  It  is  all  right." 

"  And  you  forgive  me  ? "  She  looked  at  him  anxiously. 
"  You  are  sure  you  forgive  me,  David? " 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  and  then  he  sighed.  "  Come  upstairs ;  you 
are  tired  out.  You  can't  stand  this  sort  of  thing  now.  Come." 


LUCILE    COMES    HOME.  Ill 

Mrs.  Tarrant  straightened  up  and  looked  at  him — very  quietly, 
very  gravely. 

"  David,  you  think  I  do  not  know  what  I  am  saying — you  must 
fully  understand  me.  Hannah  made  me  write  a  codicil  to  her 
will,  leaving  everything  to  Charlie  and  Peggy — do  you  hear  me, 
David?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  and  Peggy,  with  quivering  lips  drew  back. 
Fain  would  she  have  shielded  this  gentle  old  man  from  this  bit- 
terest of  all  blows.  But  she  could  do  no  more. 

"  She  wanted  me  to  send  for  the  lawyer.  I  wrote  it  out,  and 
she  signed  it.  She  was  dying  then,  David — she  died  fifteen  min- 
utes afterward.  I  kept  that  paper,  knowing  that  it  was  the  only 
thing  that  stood  between  us  and  the  Hubbold  wealth;  I  kept  it, 
intending  to  destroy  it.  But  I  could  not — my  conscience  would 
not  allow  me.  Night  after  night  I  sat  up  reading  it,  and  often 
I  thought  Hannah  would  come  to  me  and  threaten  me — "  she 
shuddered.  "  David,  do  not  blame  any  one  but  me  for  all  this 
misery — it  is  all  my  fault;  Will's  death,  Lucile — " 

She  began  to  sob  heavily.  Her  husband  sat  staring  at  her  with 
puzzled  eyes. 

"  I  was  afraid  of  Lucile — somehow  the  feeling  came  that  if 
Lucile  spoke  to  me  she  would  know  that  there  was  something 
wrong.  I  kept  her  away  from  me — I  dared  not  allow  any  intimacy 
for  fear  she  would  read  the  guilt  upon  my  face.  It  was  the  same 
way  with  that  man.  He  frightened  me.  And  now  what  I  have 
brought  upon  you — all  this  misfortune,  and  through  my  sin." 


112  LUCILE    COMES    HOME. 

Peggy  could  not  endure  the  whiteness  of  the  old  man's  face, 
the  heart-break  in  his  eyes.  She  went  forward  and  put  her  arms 
about  both  of  them,  and  by  her  clasp  brought  them  closer  to- 
gether. The  tears  were  in  her  soft  blue  eyes — she  lifted  those 
eyes  to  her  uncle  pleadingly. 

"  Dear  Uncle  David,"  she  whispered.  "  Dear  Uncle  David !  " 
Words  of  intercession  between  these  two  would  be  out  of  place  for 
her  she  felt.  So  she  simply  pleaded  with  her  sweet  lips  and  her 
sweeter  eyes — they  saying  all  she  would  have  said.  Eoused  by 
her  touch,  the  desolate  father  leaned  forward  and  clasped  his  wife 
to  his  breast. 

"  It  is  all  over,"  he  said,  in  broken  tones.  "  It  is  all  over 
now — and  we  will  forget  it."  And  then  he  spoke  to  Peggy. 

"  Go,  dear  child,  and  leave  us  to  ourselves/' 

She  rose  instantly.  No  one  could  intrude  upon  this  hour  of 
understanding,  this  hour  of  forgiveness  and  repentance.  She 
went  to  the  door,  turning  then,  and  rubbing  her  lashes  free  of  the 
tears  that  blurred  her  sight. 

Her  uncle  sat  with  cheek  resting  on  his  wife's  bowed  head, 
his  eyes  half-closed,  his  lips  drawn.  Peggy  went  out  quickly, 
afraid  that  she  would  lose  command  of  herself.  Her  bosom  was 
heaving. 

"  Dear  Lord,  give  Uncle  David  grace  to  bear  his  trials/'  she 
said,  in  a  voice  thrilling  with  emotion.  "  If  he  but  had  the  faith 
now,  how  he  could  trace  God's  finger  in  all  this.  Give  him  the 
faith,  dear  Lord — give  Uncle  David  faith." 


LUCILE    COMES    HOME.  113 

The  great  peace  that  filled  her  at  that  moment  seemed  almost 
like  an  answer  to  her  prayer.  She  hesitated. 

"  Perhaps/'  she  said,  a  little  wonderingly,  "  I  have  not  prayed 
— perhaps  I  have  not  done  my  share !  From  now  on,"  she  brought 
her  hands  together,  "  from  now  on,  every  breath  I  draw  shall 
be  a  prayer  for  Uncle  David — that  he  may  find  and  feel  the  conso- 
lation that  is  mine." 


114  REALIZATION. 


CHAPTEK   XII. 

REALIZATION. 

IT  was  not  without  a  pang  that  Lucile  Noble  followed  her 
husband  at  his  bidding  and  left  the  shelter  of  her  father's  roof. 
And  although  no  one  could  be  kinder  or  more  gentle  than  Paul 
was  then,  she  felt  the  most  poignant  sorrow.  She  did  not  regret 
her  action — she  had  had,  so  far,  no  cause  to  regret  it.  It  was  only 
natural  that  the  newness  of  this  love,  still  untried,  still  unproven, 
had  her  in  its  thrall.  There  had  not  been  time  to  question  her 
own  sense  of  right  and  justice:  she  had  had  ten  weeks  of  un- 
mixed pleasure,  of  affectionate  intercourse  with  the  man  to  whom 
she  had  given  herself. 

And  now  she  had  deserted  her  home  for  him — henceforth  she 
had  to  depend  upon  him  alone. 

Part  of  the  greatness  of  this  sacrifice  forced  itself  upon  her — a 
dread  of  the  unknown,  a  question;  a  troubling  of  the  waters 
underneath  the  placidity  of  the  stream  of  satisfaction.  She  looked 
at  her  husband  with  some  of  this  dread,  some  of  this  question, 
some  of  this  trouble  in  her  face,  as  she  sat  beside  him  in  the  car- 
riage that  was  taking  them  to  the  station.  In  anticipation  of  this 
event  she  had  kept  herself  ready;  her  trunks,  with  all  her  per- 


REALIZATION.  115 

sonal  belongings,  were  still  packed,  and  in  the  small  handbag  she 
carried  were  most  of  the  jewels  given  her  by  her  father  since  her 
aunt's  death — valuable  enough,  for  Lucile  was  fond  of  such  things, 
and  David  Tarrant  had  thought  nothing  worthy  of  her. 

Casting  her  fate  with  the  man  she  called  her  husband,  she 
looked  into  his  eyes.  He  did  not  answer  that  look  in  the  way 
she  most  desired.  Instead  he  laughed. 

"  Cheer  up,  darling.  Next  week  will  see  you  back  again, 
welcomed  with  open  arms !  Do  not  fret." 

"  I  am  not  fretting/'  said  Lucile,  quietly.  "  Not  even  if  he 
never  sends  for  us.  I  would  not  dare  to  fret." 

"  But  laugh,"  he  cried.    "  Why  be  so  serious  about  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  very  serious  to  me,"  she  answered.  "  I  have  given  up 
my  father — my  people  for  you.  Every  one,  everything.  You 
are  all  to  me — must  be  all.  Isn't  that  enough  to  make  me 
serious  ?  " 

"  Forgive  me,  Lucile,"  he  said,  "  if  I  do  not  agree  with  you. 
I  know  it  is  the  accepted  way  of  looking  at  things — especially  do 
women  love  to  prate  in  just  that  manner.  But  I'm  sure  I  wouldn't 
object  to  your  spending  as  much  time  as  you  pleased  with  your 
parents — providing,"  he  added  hastily,  seeing  her  quick  change  of 
expression,  "  that  I,  too,  am  not  deprived  of  your  presence.  I  am 
not  jealous,  dear,  not  the  slightest  bit — and  I  certainly  would  not 
want  you  to  forget  those  who  had  cared  for  you  all  your  life — 
to  whom  you  are  bound  by  ties  of  natural  affection." 

He  had  wilfully  missed  the  point  then !    Lucile,  conscious  of  a 


116  REALIZATION. 

slight  chill,  sat  back  in  the  carriage  and  her  face  grew  cold.  Had 
he  said  these  words  deliberately,  cast  the  welling  up  of  sorrowful 
feeling  back  upon  her  own  heart,  that  she  might  suffer  it  alone? 
Was  it  because  he  did  not  want  to  participate  in  what  he  must 
know  was  a  grief  to  her  ?  Must  she  hide  her  pain,  and  give  him 
only  of  her  joy? 

So  in  the  very  beginning  of  her  future — the  future  which  she 
had  welcomed  with  such  greedy,  overanxious  hands,  stood  a 
question.  There  it  stood:  a  painful  question  which  would  not 
be  answered — which  she  could  not  answer — which  she  dared  not 
answer,  and  which  she  had  hoped,  she  realized  now  with  a  sick- 
ening sensation,  to  be  able  to  answer  at  once — openly,  unhesita- 
tingly. There  was  the  question.  It  was  the  question  of  all  her 
future  life.  In  how  far  could  she  trust  this  man  who  was  her 
husband?  At  what  point  would  he  fail  her?  At  what  crisis 
would  she  have  to  stand  alone  ? 

She  had  not  Peggy's  undoubting  faith — she  had  no  higher 
Power  on  which  to  call,  for  religion  to  Lucile  had  been  and  was  a 
mere  name.  She  had  no  prop  under  her  yearning  hands  that 
seemed  to  crave  now  something  to  lean  on,  something  sure  and 
stable. 

With  this  sense  of  loss,  this  yearning,  and  this  question, 
Lucile  leaned  back  and  stared  moodily  out  of  the  carriage  win- 
dow. They  were  drawing  close  to  the  station  and  the  man  had 
slowed  up,  when  a  face  she  knew  stirred  her  to  sudden  life.  Be- 
fore Noble  could  divine  her  intention  she  told  the  man  to  stop, 


REALIZATION.  117 

and  then  leaning  out  as  far  as  she  could,  called,  in  a  voice  that 
shook  in  spite  of  all  her  efforts : 

"Teddy!     Ted  Saunders!" 

He  heard  instantly,  and  turned,  and  came  back  again,  and 
with  a  sudden  trembling  of  her  lips  she  gave  him  both  her  hands 
— which  were  cold  as  ice. 

"  Teddy !  "  she  whispered.  "  I  came  without  saying  good-by. 
Dear  Teddy,  tell  them  all  that  I  loved  them — that  I  dared  not 
wait,  or  my  heart  would  have  broken.  Tell  Peggy  to  be  good  to 
father — and  to  mother,  too — " 

"  Lucile,  what  is  it  ?  "  he  stammered.  "  What  is  the  matter  ? 
What  has  happened  ?  " 

"  This  is  my  husband — Paul,  you  know  Teddy  ?  " 

Paul  Noble  bent  forward,  a  courteous  smile  on  his  handsome 
face.  He  put  his  arm  about  his  wife  and  extended  his  right 
hand  to  Ted — honest  Ted,  who  stood  there  in  much  astonishment. 

"  Your  husband,  Lucile !  "  he  said.     "  Your  husband !  " 

"  I  am  indeed  that  lucky  being,"  said  Noble.  Ted  was  shaking 
hands  mechanically.  "  Lucile  is  upset,  of  course,  at  the  sud- 
denness with  which  all  this  has  happened.  You  are  surely 
happy,  my  dearest  ?  "  He  looked  at  her  as  he  spoke,  and  she 
shrank  a  little. 

"  Of  course  I  am  happy,"  she  said,  briefly.  "  But  Teddy 
understands  that  it  is  somewhat  of  a  strain  to  leave  them  all.  You 
will  tell  them  that,  Teddy  ?  And  that  Paul  and  I  love  each  other 
dearly,  and  that  we  shall  be  glad  when  they  can  forgive  us,  so  that 


118  REALIZATION. 

they  may  see  how  happy  we  are.  Good-by,  Teddy,  dear  old  friend, 
good-by." 

The  carriage  went  on.  Barely  had  she  passed  from  Teddy's 
sight  when  Lucile,  with  sobbing  breath,  threw  herself  against  her 
husband,  weeping  bitterly. 

"  Oh,  Paul,  Paul !  Only  love  me,  dear,  only  love  me — and 
I  will  not  care  for  anything — I  do  not  care  what  happens  if  you 
will  only  love  me." 


"  Paul,"  said  Lucile,  some  two  months  later,  looking  up  from 
the  book  she  had  been  reading.  "  Paul,  dear,  I  should  like  to  talk 
to  you." 

"  That's  strange !  "  he  answered.  "  Quite  strange,  Lucile. 
I  am  prepared  to  listen." 

"  The  subject  may  not  please  you." 

He  looked  at  her  searchingly  a  moment,  then  lounged  back 
in  the  chair. 

"  If  it  doesn't,  my  dear,  I  shall  tell  you  so." 

"  I  am  tired  of  hotel  life,"  she  said.  "  Tired  of  doing  nothing. 
Isn't  it  time  to  think  of  getting  our  own  home  together  ?  "  She 
rose  and,  coming  over  to  him,  sat  down  close  to  him.  "  Paul,  I 
am  just  hungering  for  a  home  of  our  own,  no  matter  how  little 
or  insignificant  it  may  be  in  the  beginning.  Can't  we  get  it, 
dear?" 

He  gave  her  another  sharp  glance. 


REALIZATION.  119 

"  Lucile,  the  home  I  could  give  you  would  seem  very  mis- 
erable after  the  home  you  have  left." 

"  To  you,  it  might.  It  will  be  heaven  to  me.  Where  we  can 
be  alone — do  things  for  ourselves.  This  life  is  horrible." 

"  But  what  is  the  use  when  we  are  so  unsettled  ?  " 

"  Unsettled  ?      In  what  way  ?  " 

"Your  father  may  write  you  to  come  back — ask  us  to  come 
back  at  any  hour.  Even  now  the  letter  is  on  the  road,  perhaps. 
What  good  will  it  be  to  change  for  so  short  a  while  ?  " 

"  Would  you  go  back  if  he  asked  you  to  ?  "  There  was  a  note 
of  scorn  in  her  voice.  "  Is  that  what  pride  is  in  you  ?  Ee- 
member,  he  despises  you.  Will  he  care  more  for  you — now  ? '' 

He  winced  under  that  question. 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  bother  me,  Lucile — I  am  perfectly 
content.  Why  can't  you  be?" 

"  Content !  Oh,  of  course ! "  She  got  up  from  the  sofa. 
"  Paul,  I  dread  the  effects  of  this  life  upon  you.  It  is  ruining 
you." 

"  Indeed,  my  dear,  I  think  it  will  ruin  others  before  it  does 
me." 

"  But  those  cards — those  long  games  in  the  card-room :  you 
never  reach  your  room  before  one  or  two  o'clock — this  morn- 
ing it  was  half -past  three!  Paul,  I  can't  stand  it  any  longer. 
We  must  get  away  from  here  before  the  thing  grows  on  you. 
How  frightful  if  you  began  to  gamble !  I  have  read  stories  of 
such  things — and  I  never  appreciated  the  horror  of  them  until 


120  REALIZATION. 

now.  I  realized  it  this  morning,  and  I  have  worried  myself  sick. 
Paul,  it  is  not  right  to  bring  this  fear  to  me — you  must  come 
away  when  I  ask  you — " 

She  was  shaking  violently.  He  put  up  his  hand  and  drew 
her  down  again  to  the  sofa. 

"Listen  to  me,  Lucile,"  he  said,  not  ungently,  "you  might 
as  well  understand  the  truth  first  as  last.  How  long  do  you 
think  the  hundred  dollars  that  you  brought  away  from  home 
with  you  lasted  us  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer — she  did  not  know  what  the  question 
meant. 

"  Exactly  two  weeks.  Since  then  the  money  I  have  won  at 
cards  has  supported  you  and  me.  So,  girl,  there  is  no  use  in 
talking  in  such  a  foolish  manner.  As  for  worrying — well,  I  don't 
worry,  my  dear — it's  the  other  fellows  do  that.  Cheer  up. 
Until  your  husband  has  a  streak  of  hard  luck — at  present  things 
are  booming — we'll  live  in  clover.  Get  rid  of  that  mournful 
aspect  and  we'll  go  to  the  theater  to-night — just  you  and  I. 
Yes,  and  to  please  you,  I'll  cut  out  the  game  for  one  evening. 
And  that  proves  what  an  angel  you  have  now  for  a  husband,  in- 
stead of  a  mere  masculine  nonentity." 

He  kissed  her  lightly,  laughed  down  into  her  troubled  face 
and  then  left  the  room,  whistling  the  air  of  a  popular  melody. 
Lucile  sat  quite  still  until  the  echo  of  his  footsteps  along  the 
hall  died  away.  Then  she  threw  herself  face  downward  on 
the  couch,  frightful  shudders  going  through  her  slender  frame. 


REALIZATION.  121 

Yes;  she  was  to  taste  the  fruit  that  every  one  must  taste  who 
starts  the  journey  of  life  depending  upon  a  slender  reed.  Here 
was  the  reed  that  she  had  thought  a  mighty  staff — and  it  pierced 
not  her  hand,  but  her  very  heart. 

In  those  moments  Lucile  Noble  went  through  the  bitter  fires 
of  remorse,  of  sorrow,  of  disillusionment.  She  went  through  the 
crucible  into  which  her  own  blind  folly  had  cast  her  and  looked 
upon  her  life  as  it  was,  as  it  would  be. 

"  I  will  arise  and  go  to  my  father ! "  From  somewhere  out 
of  the  recesses  of  memory  that  scriptural  line  returned,  and 
although  the  hot  blood  of  shame  dyed  her  face,  she  straightened 
up,  and  considered  it  fairly. 

"  I  will  arise  and  go  to  my  father  " — for  the  sake  of  the  man 
whom  she  had  chosen  before  that  father — for  his  sake,  to  save 
him  from  the  sin  he  acknowledged  so  lightly.  She  would  throw 
herself  upon  that  father's  kindness,  and  the  tenderness  that  had 
never  failed  her.  With  this  resolve  strong  upon  her,  she  drew 
out  paper  and  pen  to  write  the  letter  that  she  had  vowed  in  her 
pride  and  sense  of  injury  never  to  send. 

To  read  the  struggle  of  her  soul  then  would  have  been  sor- 
rowful for  any  one  who  could  sympathize  with  a  proud  nature 
in  the  throes  of  rebellion.  And  yet  she  forced  herself  to  the  dis- 
tasteful task,  and  after  a  while  the  love  and  longing  for  that 
dear,  kind  face  crept  into  her  words.  Line  after  line  covered  the 
pages.  She  had  not  known  what  to  say,  but,  once  started,  the 
words  came  easily  enough.  Brave  words  indeed  were  they,  but 


122  REALIZATION. 

the  ones  who  loved  her  could  read  the  pathos  and  the  unrest 
underneath.  _ 

And  so  she  asked  her  father  if  she  and  her  husband  might 
come  home  to  her  people — that  she  could  not  settle  down  away 
from  them;  that  she  wanted  them.  Surely  they  had  not  for- 
gotten her — surely  they  would  welcome  her.  And  all  she  asked 
was  to  be  assured  of  their  welcome,  and  the  moments  would  crawl 
until  she  saw  them  again.  She  could  not  live  happy  apart  from 
them. 

So  wrote  Lucile  Noble,  who  two  months  before  had  proudly 
told  herself  that  she  would  risk  her  future  willingly  with  the 
man  she  loved. 


IN    THE    DEPTHS.  123 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

IN    THE   DEPTHS. 

THE  answer  to  that  letter  came  right  speedily.  Paul  Noble 
himself  took  the  envelope  bearing  the  Hubbold  postmark  from 
the  clerk,  and  with  something  like  triumph  in  his  eyes  carried 
it  to  his  wife's  room.  She  had  not  told  him  she  had  written  to  her 
father,  fearing  that  no  answer  would  come — and  he,  in  the  recog- 
nition of  the  postmark,  saw  in  this  epistle  the  realization  of  all 
his  hopes.  David  Tarrant  had  relented  and  would  welcome  them 
home  with  open  arms  ! 

"  Eureka ! "  he  said,  gaily,  waving  the  envelope  in  air  as  he 
came  to  her,  seated  with  her  book  in  hand.  Reading  was  now 
her  only  solace,  her  only  employment.  "  Eureka ! "  he  said 
again.  "  Here  we  have  news  at  last,  Lucile.  Return  at  once 
— the  fatted  calf  is  to  be  killed  in  our  honor :  in  honor  of  son  and 
daughter." 

She  winced  a  trifle  as  he  laid  the  letter  in  her  lap  and  then 
stood  gazing  down  at  her  with  that  gay  smile  on  his  lips.  She 
put  her  hand  across  it  and  looked  at  him. 

"  Paul,"  she  said,  with  a  quiver  in  her  voice,  "  be  serious 


124  IN    THE    DEPTHS. 

— just  this  once  be  serious.  Listen  to  me.  I  did  not  want  to 
tell  you  before — 1  was  afraid  father  would  not  answer  me,  but — 
I  wrote  home  four  days  ago." 

He  frowned  a  little.  Then  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  a 
peculiar  manner. 

"  Well — I'm  sorry — they  would  have  come  around  all  right — 
I'm  sorry." 

He  paced  up  and  down  the  room  rapidly  a  few  times,  and 
at  last  came  back  and  stood  over  her. 

"Yet  you  would  have  to  do  it  in  the  end,  so  I  suppose  it 
doesn't  matter.  At  any  rate  read  the  letter,  and  let  us  know  the 
worst.  I  suppose  he'll  make  a  lot  of  stipulations — but  we  can  get 
rid  of  those  once  we  settle  matters." 

Lucile  was  wishing  that  she  could  have  this  letter  to  herself 
at  first — but  in  another  moment  she  chided  herself  for  the  wish. 
She  was  anxious  to  read  her  father's  words,  but  her  heart  yearned 
over  her  husband,  whom  she  saw  courting  the  fate  of  all  others  who 
risk  fortune,  and  finally  name  and  honor,  on  the  throw  of  a  dice, 
the  turn  of  a  card.  So,  smiling  bravely  up  into  his  face,  she 
broke  the  seal,  and  as  he  stooped  to  read  the  words  with  her,  she 
made  room  for  him  beside  her.  He  put  his  arm  about  her,  and 
the  touch  satisfied  her  sense  of  helplessness.  She  felt  stronger, 
suddenly.  She  felt  that  she  could  trust  him. 

So  did  her  heart  conquer  her  judgment — conquer  even  her 
reason  and  her  common  sense. 

His  eyes  glanced  through  the  first  lines  very  rapidly.     Then 


IN    THE    DEPTHS.  125 

a  muttered  word  fell  from  his  lips  and  his  face  whitened.  He 
said  nothing  else,  but  he  read  with  her  to  the  very  end.  The 
paper  fluttered  from  her  cold  fingers  to  the  floor,  and  neither 
of  them  spoke  or  moved.  For  Lucile  the  shock  consisted — so 
well  had  she  learned  to  read  the  man  she  had  married — of  her 
knowledge  that  this  would  be  a  bitter  blow  to  him.  For  herself 
she  cared  nothing.  The  love  and  tenderness  in  that  letter  set 
her  pulses  beating;  her  father's  words  brought  up  her  father's 
face,  and  she  longed  for  him  with  all  her  aching  heart.  No- 
where else  could  she  fly  for  the  consolation  of  true  affection;  no 
one  else  on  earth  ever  loved  her  as  he  had  done. 

So  they  sat  there.  It  was  Paul  Noble  broke  the  silence  at  last : 
the  breath  he  drew  a  shuddering  one. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh,  "  we've  caught  it." 

She  did  not  answer.  He  got  up  on  his  feet  and  began  to 
stride  rapidly  up  and  down  the  room  again — but  this  time  nerv- 
ously energetic. 

"  Another  will !  Another  will !  And  the  two  Stantons  in- 
herit Hubbold,  money  and  all !  The  Mills !  What  a  fortune  in 
those  Mills !  By  heaven,  but  this  is  a  pretty  kettle  of  fish !  And 
that  it  should  be  the  Stantons !  " 

His  words  were  mild  enough,  but  his  expression  plainly  de- 
noted that  he  did  not  know  what  he  was  saying.  Lucile  fol- 
lowed him  with  her  eyes — and  finally  he  became  aware  of  that 
scrutiny.  She  knew,  as  he  stood  looking  at  her,  that  he  was  in  a 
passion.  She  had  not  seen  him  violently  angrv  before,  but  it 


126  IN    THE    DEPTHS. 

never  came  to  her  to  be  afraid  of  him — not  even  now  when  he 
looked  down  at  her  with  that  distorted  face. 

"  I  wish  I  had  the  Stantons  here  to  tear  them  limb  from 
iimb,"  he  said,  between  his  shut  teeth. 

His  wife  stared  at  him  in  perplexity.  Fortunately  she  did  not 
try  to  reason  with  him.  She  said  nothing — not  a  word.  But  the 
mask  fell  from  his  face  then,  and  the  image  she  had  been  trying 
to  keep  unbroken  in  her  heart  crumbled  into  dust.  She  looked 
at  the  wreck  of  her  ideals,  she  looked  at  the  wreck  of  her  future. 
But  she  threw  her  head  in  air  fearlessly. 

"  What  do  you  mean,"  she  asked. 

The  question  gave  him  a  chance  to  secure  control  of  himself. 
He  turned  away. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you — that  you —  That  this — this 
misfortune — this  news  makes  no  difference  to  you  ?  "  He  bit  each 
word  off  savagely. 

"  A  great  deal  of  difference,"  she  said,  and  then  she  smiled. 
"  Paul,  here  is  our  chance,  dear,  here  is  our  chance.  You  didn't 
marry  me  for  Aunt  Hannah's  money — you  know  you  didn't. 
Aunt  Hannah's  money  is  gone — we  can  go  back  now  without  fear 
of  having  false  motives  ascribed  to  us.  Let  us  go  back."  Her 
eyes  filled  with  tears.  "  The  legacy  father  mentions  will  get  us 
a  pretty  place — and  we  can  settle  down,  just  you  and  I,  in  a  home 
of  our  own — our  very  own.  And  the  Mills  are  there — and  there 
is  room  for  you  as  well  as  father  and  Charlie.  We'll  be  so 
happy—" 


IN    THE    DEPTHS.  127 

He  laughed  shortly.    The  laugh  was  worse  than  a  blow  to  her. 

"  If  that  is  your  idea  of  happiness,  it  isn't  mine,"  he  said. 
"  We'll  not  go  back." 

She  grew  very  pale. 

"We'll — not — go — back.  Eealize  that  now  once  for  all.  A 
nice  figure  I'd  cut  with  that  little  idiot  Peggy — "  He  choked. 
"  Do  just  as  you  like — go  if  you  like — but  you'll  go  as  your  father 
said  you  should — alone." 

He  went  out  and  slammed  the  door  behind  him.  Lucile 
gathered  up  her  father's  letter,  bringing  it  to  her  lips. 

"  He  will  think  better  of  it,"  she  said,  under  her  breath.  "  He 
must  think  better  of  it." 

Not  the  slightest  doubt  troubled  her.  She  read  and  reread 
her  father's  gentle  words  to  her;  read  them  with  tear-filled  eyes 
and  a  smile  on  her  lips.  It  was  so  good  to  feel  that  dear,  pro- 
tecting love  about  her  once  again.  Once  again  she  had  some- 
thing to  rely  on — something  to  sustain  her. 

"  We  may  go  to-morrow,"  she  said.  "  I  shouldn't  wonder  if 
we  did.  I  must  write  now.  I'll  write  and  tell  father  and  Peggy 
that  we  are  coming — that  they  must  meet  us — and  that  they  must 
be  nice  to  Paul." 

In  her  excitement  it  took  her  only  a  few  moments  to  carry  out 
her  resolve. 

"  I  shall  persuade  Paul  to  start  as  soon  as  possible — perhaps 
to-morrow,"  she  wrote.  "  He  may  not  like  it,  he  may  have  busi- 
ness affairs  to  settle,"  she  winced  a  little  over  the  deception, 


128  IN    THE   DEPTHS. 

"  but,  nevertheless,  he  must  come.  I  am  longing  to  see  my  dear 
father — and  mother,  too.  And  Peggy  and  Charlie  and  Leila, 
and  dear  old  Ted.  Don't  answer  this — I  shall  be  with  you 
almost  as  soon  as  it  arrives." 

She  called  the  bellboy  and  sent  the  letter  off  at  once — and  then 
with  softened  face  and  the  wistful  smile  still  upon  her  lips  sat 
reading  over  and  over  the  missive  that  meant  so  much  to  her. 


Evening  came;  the  dinner-hour  passed,  and  Paul  Noble  did 
not  appear.  Lucile  dined  alone — she  would  not  go  into  the 
dining-room  without  him.  When  the  hours  went  on  without 
bringing  him,  a  deep  melancholy  took  possession  of  her.  At 
half -past  ten  she  felt  that  if  she  could  but  exchange  a  word  with 
him  it  would  satisfy  her  doubts,  set  her  mind  at  rest.  She  called 
the  boy  once  more. 

"  Go  to  the  card-room  and  tell  Mr.  Noble  to  come  to  me  just 
for  a  few  moments — I  will  not  detain  him,"  she  said. 

The  boy  went,  returning  with  the  message  that  Mr.  Noble  was 
not  in  the  card-room ;  he  had  looked  in  the  other  rooms,  too,  but 
he  was  not  there. 

At  midnight  Lucile  retired.  She  lay  awake  until  morning. 
Her  husband  did  not  return.  Day  broke;  she  rose  in  a  panic  of 
fear.  What  could  have  happened  to  him?  He  must  have  been 
injured — 

But  no.     Had  that  been  the  case  she  would  have  received  word. 


IN    THE   DEPTHS.  129 

There  were  enough  papers  and  cards  upon  his  person  to  identify 
him. 

The  day  went  by.  The  melancholy,  the  sorrow,  the  fear  gave 
way  to  apathy  at  last — dullness.  Here  it  was  the  morning — 
the  afternoon — the  night  of  the  very  day  on  which  she  had 
told  her  father  they  would  start  on  their  journey  home.  Once 
more  she  sat  at  her  solitary  meal  in  her  solitary  room.  But 
every  mouthful  seemed  to  choke  her,  and  she  pushed  away  the  food 
untasted.  Leaning  her  elbows  on  the  table,  she  propped  her 
head  upon  her  hands,  and  while  she  sat  in  this  manner,  a  heavy 
figure  lurched  against  the  door.  Her  husband  stumbled  in. 
She  sprang  to  her  feet  in  alarm,  her  bosom  heaving. 

It  did  not  need  a  second  glance  to  tell  her  that  he  was  in- 
toxicated. Nor  even  mildly  so,  but  in  a  sodden,  sickening  state. 
Lucile  looked  at  him  with  horror  in  her  glance,  fright,  shame, 
misery  unspeakable.  And  then,  with  a  woman's  intuitive  desire 
to  shield  from  public  knowledge  the  disgrace  or  vice  of  the  man 
she  loves,  Lucile  crossed  the  room  quickly  arid  shut  the  door  behind 
him. 

One  thing,  fortunately,  was  spared  to  her.  Disgusting  as 
was  his  condition,  the  white  face,  the  horrified  eyes  she  turned 
on  him,  seemed  to  penetrate  even  his  dulled  brain.  He  mum- 
bled and  swore  and  mumbled  again,  but  he  did  not  speak  to  her, 
nor  she  to  him.  Seeing  the  food  upon  the  table,  he  went  over 
and  seated  himself,  eating  ravenously,  his  hands  waving  in  the 
air  as  he  brought  each  bit  to  his  mouth.  Lucile  simply  stood  and 


130  IN    THE   DEPTHS. 

watched  him — watched  his  every  movement.  Then,  when  his 
head  fell  forward  on  his  breast,  and  he  slept,  she  went  softly  into 
the  inner  room. 

"No,"  she  said.  "No — we  shall  not  go  back.  Dear,  dear 
father — my  father — oh,  my  father!  Good-by,"  she  whispered. 
"Just  good-by." 

***** 

It  was  some  days  before  Paul  Noble  recovered  sufficiently 
to  speak  sensibly  on  any  subject.  He  was  ashamed  of  himself — 
but  not  too  much  so.  He  felt  that  he  owed  himself  occasional  in- 
dulgence— he  had  not  touched  liquor  in  almost  six  months — too 
much  to  expect  of  any  man.  So  he  was  not  prepared  to  make  any 
excuses  whatever,  and  Lucile  did  not  look  for  any. 

"  Have  you  answered  your  father's  letter  yet  ? "  he  asked 
her,  finally. 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

"  And  what  did  you  say  to  him  ?  " 

She  was  standing  at  the  window,  staring  down  into  the  busy 
street. 

"  Just  what  you  bade  me,"  she  said.  "  That  we  would  not 
return." 

He  was  taken  aback  at  the  coldness  of  her  manner,  the  de- 
cision of  her  voice. 

"  I  wrote  at  once  that  we  were  going,  that  we  would  start  the 
next  day.  During  your — illness,"  she  paused  on  the  word,  and 
he  had  the  grace  to  wince,  "  I  wrote  again.  I  told  him  that  your 


IN    THE    DEPTHS.  131 

business  affairs  were  in  a  pretty  bad  condition — that  you  could 
not  leave  them ;  that  if  he  cared  to,  he  might  send  me  the  amount 
Aunt  Hannah  left  me — it  would  help  us  to  tide  over  a  crisis  and 
probably  set  you  on  your  feet  again.  I  left  him  to  surmise  the 
business — real  estate,  I  indicated." 

Paul  Noble  looked  at  her. 

"What  do  you  mean — what  do  you  intend  doing?" 

She  turned. 

"  I  am  your  wife,"  she  said,  and  the  expression  in  her  voice 
was  hard  to  understand.  He  could  not  understand  it. 

"I  know  that." 

"  I  shall  act  a  wife's  part.  In  that  bag  are  the  jewels  I 
brought  with  me  from  home — I  have  no  use  now  for  jewelry. 
When  the  few  thousands  come — as  come  they  will,  for  I  know  my 
father,  you  can  have  them,  you  can  do  as  you  please  with  them. 
My  place  is  with  you,  and  with  you  I  have  to  stay.  I  had  thought 
it  a  pleasure — but  now  it  is  my  duty.  I  will  not  shirk  my  duty, 
Paul." 

All  the  manliness  left  in  his  miserable  soul  rose  up  to  meet 
the  break  in  that  voice.  He  crossed  the  room  with  a  few  quick 
steps,  and  clasped  her  in  his  arms.  She  did  not  resist  him, 
neither  did  she  yield.  He  turned  her  impassive  face  to  him  and 
looked  at  her. 

"  Lucile !  Don't  talk  like  that !  Do  you  want  to  madden 
me?" 

"  I  am  past  the  maddened  stage,"  she  said,  slowly.     "  Past 


132  IN    THE    DEPTHS. 

and  below  it.  I  am  in  the  depths  of  misery  and  despair.  Have 
you  thought  of  me?" 

"Forgive  me,  Lucile,  forgive  me!  You  don't  understand 
a  man's  temptation.  Put  up  with  me,  and  I'll  try  to  do  better — 
I  swear  I  will,  Lucile.  Look  at  me,  look,  smile —  Ah,  Lucile, 
don't  you  know  that  you  are  enough  to  drive  a  man  crazy  with 
your  cold  face — " 

But  the  pleading  in  his  voice,  really  genuine,  broke  down  the 
barriers.  She  loved  him.  It  was  no  longer  the  love  of  other 
days  when  she  had  been  proud  of  him;  but  still  she  loved  him. 
She  clasped  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  wept.  Not  with  the 
tears  that  are  dried  easily,  because  the  sorrow  is  a  fleeting  one; 
rather  with  the  hopeless,  heavy  weeping  of  a  woman  who  has 
cast  her  lot  with  pain  and  sorrow  and  is  taking  up  the  weary  way 
of  life  with  them  alone. 

She  had  no  faith,  none  of  the  tender  religious  fervor  that  we 
Catholics  know — therefore  was  she  indeed  desolate.  She  had 
courted  her  own  disappointment,  she  had  made  a  failure  of  her 
life  and  being  more  just  than  the  majority — perhaps  prouder — she 
abided  by  her  mistake.  For  her  repentance  took  the  form  of 
stoical  endurance.  She  knew  of  God,  she  knew  of  religion.  That 
was  all.  She  did  not  call  on  either  for  the  strong  help  that 
comes  to  man  in  the  hour  of  his  dire  necessity. 

It  was  alone.  Then,  as  well  as  later,  Lucile  felt  that  she  had 
made  shipwreck  of  her  hopes.  Then,  as  later,  she  understood 
the  lesson  her  father  had  tried  to  teach  her.  "  So  many  of  us 


IN    THE    DEPTHS.  138 

mistake  blind  folly  for  the  divine  passion,"  he  had  said,  "  that  it 
is  not  safe  to  wait."  So  it  had  not  been  the  divine  passion  in 
her  case,  but  blind  folly — and  she,  like  every  other  erring  mortal, 
had  to  pay  the  penalty.  She  had  yielded  to  her  own  headstrong 
will,  and  it  carried  her  whither  it  would.  It  had  carried  her  to 
the  brink  of  an  abyss.  Her  future  here  and  hereafter  depended 
now  upon  how  she  took  up  her  burden. 


134  PEGGY'S    KNIGHT. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

PEGGY'S  KNIGHT. 

THINGS  changed  very  little  at  Hubbold  Hall  during  the  next 
two  years,  save  that  Peggy  Stanton  had  matured  somewhat  and 
had  grown  broader-minded  in  the  loving  life  she  led.  Essentially 
a  ministering  soul,  her  newly  acquired  wealth  gave  her  full  power 
to  exercise  this  trait  of  her  disposition.  "  The  little  chapel  at 
the  end  of  the  town,"  as  Lucile  had  called  it,  was  no  longer  the 
humble  place  of  worship  it  had  been,  and  the  Hubbold  Mills  were 
held  up  as  an  example  of  what  wealth  can  do  for  those  it  employs. 
The  Stanton  name  was  indeed  an  honored  one. 

And  what  of  the  other  people  of  our  tale? 

Leila  was  the  happy  mother  of  a  little  girl  whom  they  had 
called  Margaret,  after  her  Aunt  Peggy ;  Charlie  was  the  same  ge- 
nial, honest,  God-fearing  fellow  of  old,  for  it  was  not  in  Charlie's 
nature  to  change — he  would  be  the  same  until  the  day  he  died. 
And  Ted  Saunders  was  Peggy's  devoted  swain,  though  as  yet  she 
had  given  him  very  little  encouragement. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tarrant  were  more  to  each  other  in  these  days 
than  they  had  ever  been.  Mrs.  Tarrant's  temptation  had  broken 
her  pride.  She  had  been  humiliated,  and  she  never  forgot  it, 


PEGGY'S    KNIGHT.  135 

so  that  her  humiliation  meant  the  betterment  of  her  whole  life. 
They  were  comparatively  happy.  Time  wears  away  the  sharp 
edge  of  the  keenest  sorrow.  Although  their  keenest  sorrow  was 
seldom  mentioned  between  them,  it  was  nevertheless  present. 
They  had  not  heard  from  Lucile  again,  beyond  a  brief  note  of 
thanks  from  her  and  her  husband,  conjointly  written,  on  the  re- 
ceiving of  the  check  for  the  sum  that  had  been  left  to  the  girl  by 
Aunt  Hannah. 

We  take  up  the  thread  of  their  lives  one  sunny  morning  in 
June.  Peggy,  with  gentle  hands,  is  leading  an  old  man  out  upon 
the  porch.  He  obeys  her  guiding  touch  implicitly,  and  sinks 
into  the  chair  she  places  for  him. 

"Leila  said  she  would  bring  baby  out  here — we'll  make  her 
walk  to  you !  "  said  Peggy,  in  her  gentle  voice.  She  is  the  same 
dear  little  Peggy,  with  the  same  soft  light  in  her  gentle  eyes, 
and  the  same  lingering  sweetness  of  smile.  "  Do  you  smell  the 
roses,  the  June  roses,  Uncle  David  ?  " 

"Yes,  dear — it's  good  I'm  not  losing  my  sense  of  smell  as 
well  as  my  sense  of  sight,"  he  said,  with  a  smile.  "  It  will  be 
something  to  remember,  this — the  smell  of  the  June  roses  and 
little  Meg  toddling  along  on  her  unsteady,  baby  feet."  He  sighed 
wearily.  "  It  is  good  to  have  a  child  in  the  house,  Peggy  dear — 
it  keeps  us  young." 

"  Or  makes  the  baby  old/'  mused  Peggy. 

"  Not  while  she  has  such  a  child  for  a  mother  as  Leila  is," 
declared  Mr.  Tarran't.  "  How  does  she  manage  to  keep  so  happy  ? 


136  PEGGY'S    KNIGHT. 

Natures  are  differently  constituted,  little  girl.  Charlie  and  you 
and  she  are  so  content,  so  satisfied  to  take  what  comes — " 

Peggy  shut  her  lips  resolutely,  and  looked  out  across  the  old- 
fashioned  garden  that  her  own  hands  had  made  to  bloom  at  the 
foot  of  the  southern  porch  for  her  Uncle  David's  special  gratifi- 
cation. Then,  with  heightened  color  she  turned  to  him,  and 
his  dimming  eyes  could  not  but  see  the  beauty  of  the  face  she 
brought  so  close  to  his. 

"  We  have  the  secret,  Uncle  Tarrant,"  she  said.  "  We  have 
learned  the  secret." 

"  I  daresay/'  he  said.  "  It's  in  that  wonderful  religion  of 
yours." 

"  Yes,"  said  Peggy.     "  That's  -the  secret." 

"I'll  acknowledge  it,"  said  Mr.  Tarrant.  "But  I  can't  see, 
Peggy." 

"  Perhaps  that  is  why  God  is  depriving  you  of  sight,"  an- 
swered Peggy.  "  To  make  your  soul  see." 

Wise  Peggy !  She  said  such  things  as  these  so  simply,  so 
unaffectedly,  not  knowing  what  effect  they  had  upon  their  hearers. 
These  words  struck  this  man  strangely  now.  A  peculiar  expres- 
sion came  across  his  face.  But  Peggy  had  said  enough.  She  was 
sensitive  in  regard  to  pressing  her  faith  upon  any  one. 

"At  least  your  sight  is  getting  no  worse,"  she  said,  gently. 
"  It  is  just  about  the  same  as  it  was  six  months  ago." 

He  waited  a  few  moments.     Then  he  put  his  hand  on  her  head. 

"  Peggy,  dear !  "  he  whispered.    "  It  is  worse — much  worse." 


KNIGHT.  137 

She  did  not  answer  him  in  words,  but  she  patted  his  hand 
softly  and  then  kissed  it. 

"  My  dear  Uncle  David ! "  she  said. 

"  Would  you  believe,  Peggy,  that  a  prayer  that  I  should  make 
would  be  answered  ?  "  he  went  on,  tremblingly. 

"Why!"  said  Peggy.  "What  a  thing  to  say!  God  will 
surely  listen  to  your  prayers,  Uncle  David!  Oh,  if  He  didn't 
there  would  be  no  hope  for  any  of  us." 

"That's  heretical,"  said  Mr.  Tarrant. 

"  It  is  not,"  said  Peggy,  indignantly.  "  Why,  that  would  be 
an  awful  thing  to  say — that  God  wouldn't  listen  to  you.  Uncle 
David,  I—" 

"  Well,  that's  all  right,  dear."  Again  he  hesitated.  "  I  am 
praying,  Peggy — praying  very  hard.  Do  you  know  what  for  ?  " 

She  knew.  The  tears  rushed  to  her  eyes.  She  put  her  arms 
about  him  as  she  whispered  the  one  word :  "  Lucile." 

"  Lucile,"  he  answered.  "  Just  Lucile.  I  am  praying  that 
God  won't  shut  out  the  light  altogether  until  I  see  Lucile  once 
more.  After  that,  I  do  not  care." 

"  He  won't,"  said  Peggy,  softly.  "  He's  such  a  great,  loving 
God,  He  just  won't.  I'll  ask  Him,  too.  And  Leila  and  Charlie. 
We  all  will.  Your  prayer  will  be  answered." 

She  spoke  with  such  conviction  that  his  face  lighted  up  with 
hope.  But  before  he  could  speak,  a  merry  voice  floated  out  to 
them. 

<e  There's  Grandfather  Tarrant  and  Grandmother  Peggy  to- 


188  PEGGY'S    KNIGHT. 

gether  again — look  out,  baby,  or  you'll  fall.  And  your  nose  is 
enough  like  Peggy's  now — I  don't  want  any  noses  like  that  in 
my  family." 

"  Leila !  "  cried  Peggy.  "  And  Meg — sure  enough,  it's  Meg. 
Come  on,  baby — see  here's  grandfather  waiting  for  you — catch  her, 
Leila,  catch  her !  Oh,  I  thought  she  was  surely  down  that  time." 

Leila's  laughing  dark  face  appeared  now,  bent  close  above  the 
tottering  little  figure  in  white,  making  its  proud  first  walking 
expedition  to  the  old  arms  held  out  to  her.  She  reached  him 
safely,  with  a  chuckle  of  satisfaction,  as  he  caught  her  and  lifted 
her  up  on  his  knee. 

"  Ted's  in  the  drawing-room/'  announced  Leila,  then.  "  Get 
thee  away,  fair  maiden." 

"  Why  didn't  you  bring  him  here  ? "  asked  Peggy,  almost 
crossly. 

"  He  wouldn't  come.  You  see,  I  told  him  to-day  was  your 
birthday — " 

"  Leila ! " 

"  So  he  has  something  to  give  you  which  no  one  else  dare  share. 
Go  get  it,  Peggy,  and  come  back  and  show  it.  It's  about  time 
you  gave  the  parishioners  of  St.  Francis  de  Sales  something  to 
talk  about,  or  you'll  have  Father  Daly  reading  the  riot  act  on 
long  company-keeping." 

"  Eiot  act !  Company-keeping !  "  gasped  Peggy.  "  Well, 
what  a  piece  of  impertinence ! "  Her  head  flew  up  in  the  air. 
"  T  wouldn't  do  anything  so  vulgar." 


PEGGY'S    KNIGHT.  139 

"  Oh,  call  it  what  you  like/'  said  Leila,  nonchalantly.  "  But 
that's  the  right  name  for  it.  So  set  the  day,  or  I'll  get  Father 
Daly  to  publish  the  banns — " 

"  I  really  believe  you  would,"  said  Peggy.  What  annoyance 
she  felt  at  Leila's  words  disappeared  when  she  saw  the  amused 
smile  that  lighted  up  her  uncle's  whole  countenance.  Leila 
always  cheered  him  at  once.  The  girl  sped  away  to  the  drawing- 
room. 

"  I  came  in  to  bring  you  right  out  to  see  Uncle  Tarrant," 
she  said  to  the  handsome  young  fellow  who  was  standing  at  the 
mantel,  and  who  turned  when  she  entered.  "  What  do  you  mean 
by  not  paying  your  respects  to  him  first  ?  " 

"  Because  I  wanted  to  pay  them  to  you,"  he  said,  looking 
at  her  cheerful  little  face,  "  and  to  congratulate  you.  Allow  me." 
He  advanced  to  her  side,  and  before  she  could  divine  his  intention, 
had  put  his  arm  about  her  and  kissed  her. 

"  Well !  "  she  exclaimed,  when  she  could  get  her  breath.  She 
looked  up  at  him — at  the  half -laugh  in  his  eyes,  at  the  gravity  of 
his  face.  Her  head  went  up  in  its  own  particular  way — Peggy's 
way — and  she  would  have  left  him  immediately.  But  he  held 
her  tight. 

"  I  have  something  else  for  you,"  he  said.  "  Now  jov 
needn't  be  angry,  Peggy — I  won't  mind  it  one  bit.  Here,  see 
if  this  fits  you?" 

He  pressed  the  spring  of  the  small  velvet  box  he  held  in  his 
hand,  and  Peggy's  eyes  caught  the  sparkle  of  a  diamond. 


140  PEGGY'S    KNIGHT. 

"  This  is  your  engagement  ring,"  he  said.  "  Put  it  on,  Peggy, 
or  allow  me  to." 

But  she  locked  both  her  arms  behind  her. 

"No,  Teddy,  I  won't/' 

"Yes;  Peggy,  you  will." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  say  so." 

"  Because — you — say — so — " 

Her  mood  changed;  she  caught  her  breath  sharply,  and  drew 
away  from  him. 

"  Teddy,  I  want  to  ask  you  one  single  question — just  one. 
Would  you,  if  you  knew  I  wanted  something  very  much,  try  to 
get  it  for  me?" 

"  It  is  not  necessary  to  ask  me  the  question,  Peggy." 

"  Perhaps  not — but  I  like  to  ask  questions."  She  stood  a 
moment,  pondering.  "  Teddy,  you've  read  about  the  knights  of 
old,  how  chivalrous  and  daring  they  were.  Those  old  tales  of 
brave  deeds  always  set  my  blood  tingling,  and  I  often  wish  I  were 
a  man  that  I  could  go  out  and  do  something  strong,  something 
great.  Teddy,  I'm  not  a  man,  I'm  only  a  girl,  and  not  very 
brave  at  that.  But  will  you  be  my  knight  for  me  ?  " 

"  At  your  service."  He  bent  on  one  knee,  and  lifted  a  half- 
amused  and  wholly  earnest  face  to  hers.  "  Give  me  the  degree 
of  knighthood,  and  I  promise  to  serve  you  in  every  way  that  lies 
in  a  man's  power." 

She  leaned  forward  and  struck  him  lightly  on  the  shoulder. 


PEGGY'S    KNIGHT.  141 

"  Rise,  Sir  Knight !  "  she  said.  "  Oh,  Teddy,  Teddy— if  you 
can  only  do  what  I  ask — " 

"  There  is  something,  then  ?  "  he  asked  in  surprise.  "  What 
is  it,  Peggy?" 

"Ted,  I've  been  speaking  to  Uncle  David.  He's  growing 
blinder  every  day —  Do  you  know  what  he  said  to  me  just  a  few 
moments  ago  ?  " 

"No,  Peggy." 

"  That  he  was  praying  for  one  favor  from  heaven — that  he 
might  keep  his  sight  until  Lucile  came  home.  Think,  Ted. 
In  two  long  years  we  have  not  seen  her,  nor  heard  from  her. 
Teddy,  will  you  be  my  knight,  and  go  out  and  find  her  for  us? 
Will  you,  Ted?" 

"I  would  do  more — much  more  than  that  for  you,  Peggy," 
he  answered,  gravely.  "  I  have  never  spoken  of  Lucile  to  you — 
I  was  afraid  you  might  not  want  me  to  talk  of  her.  I  did  like 
her  very  much — I  like  her  still,  Peggy.  We  had  all  grown  up 
together — Charlie  and  you  and  she  and  I,  and  it  seemed  sort  of 
natural  that  we  should  marry.  But  one  thing  I  want  you  to 
rest  assured  of — that  the  love  I  offer  you  to-day  is  an  entirely 
different  affection  to  that  which  I  offered  Lucile.  She  was  right 
in  rejecting  me — she  realized,  although  I  did  not,  that  it  was  not 
all  it  should  have  been.  You  understand,  Peggy  ?  " 

"  Thoroughly,"  she  answered,  gravely.  "  Do  not  worry  on 
that  point.  And  now,  Teddy — " 

"Yes?" 


142  PEGGY'S    KNIGHT. 

"If  you  will  find  Lucile,  dear,  and  bring  her  home — you 
may —  Well,  I'll  see  if  the  ring  fits  me,  Teddy." 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment.  Then,  without  a  word,  he  swung 
on  his  heel  and  went  toward  the  door.  The  sudden  resolution 
that  hardened  his  face  made  Peggy's  heart  leap.  But  on  the 
threshold  her  voice  halted  him.  Teddy  was  to  be  initiated  into 
the  witchery  of  a  woman's  inconsistency. 

"  Just  a  minute,  Teddy,"  she  said,  softly.  "  Come  back  here 
one  minute." 

She  met  him  half-way,  holding  out  both  hands  toward  him. 

"  It  isn't  fair  to  do  that,"  she  said.  "  I  know  you  will  do 
what  I  want  you  to.  So  you  may — see — if  it  fits — now — Teddy." 


TEDDY'S    SEARCH.  143 


CHAPTER   XV. 
TEDDY'S  SEARCH. 

TEDDY  SAUNDERS  went  home,  packed  his  grip,  and  left  that 
night  to  search  for  Lucile. 

He  had  very  little  to  aid  him  in  his  search — her  last  letters, 
and  the  name  of  the  place  where  she  had  lived  two  years  before. 
He  shook  his  head  as  he  thought  what  slender  clews  these  were  in 
case  Lucile  had  gone  away  from  Binghamton.  But  if  her  hus- 
band was  interested  in  real  estate  there,  it  did  not  seem  likely 
that  she  would  have  gone  very  far  from  the  scene  of  his  opera- 
tions. Teddy  knew  little  about  Paul  Noble — and  nothing  of  the 
cause  that  had  made  Mr.  Tarrant  so  bitter  against  him.  He 
felt  some  reluctance  to  touch  on  such  a  delicate  subject,  and 
Charlie,  his  friend,  was  singularly  reticent  where  Lucile  was  con- 
cerned. So  that  Teddy  was  setting  forth  now  on  more  of  a  wild 
goose  chase  than  even  he  anticipated. 

He  reached  the  little  city  rather  late  in  the  evening  and  went 
to  the  hotel  which  happened  to  be  nearest — the  leading  hotel,  in 
fact.  Here  he  registered.  Afterward,  when  he  was  in  his  own 
room,  he  pulled  out  his  wallet,  to  glance  over  Lucile's  letters  once 
more — Peggy  had  given  them  to  him  before  he  left  that  they  might 


144  TEDDY'S    SEARCH. 

be  of  what  use  possible.  He  recognized,  with  a  start  of  surprise, 
that  he  was  in  the  very  hotel  from  which  the  letters  had  been 
dated.  Acting  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  he  asked  to  see  the 
manager  of  the  house.  That  gentleman  put  in  an  appearance  at 
once. 

"  Have  you  any  recollection,"  asked  Teddy,  "  of  a  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Noble  who  resided  here  some  two  years  ago  ?  " 

"A  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Noble?"  He  thought  a  while.  "I  can't 
say  that  I  have — so  many  people  stop  here,  of  course.  You  have 
no  idea  how  long  they  stayed  ?  " 

"  Over  two  months,  if  not  longer,"  hazarded  Teddy.  "  That 
long  at  least.  Mr.  Noble  was  interested  in  real  estate;  he  had 
an  office  somewhere  in  the  place,  I  imagine." 

The  manager  shook  his  head. 

"  Not  in  this  place — there  are  only  some  half  dozen  firms 
interested  in  land  hereabouts.  Broderick  is  one  of  the  leading 
ones;  also  Franklin.  I'd  advise  Broderick,  if  you  are  think- 
ing-" 

"  No,  no ;  not  at  all,"  interposed  Teddy,  hastily.  "  I  am  merely 
trying  to  trace  Noble.  Perhaps  he  had  dealings  with  some  of  the 
real  estate  firms  without  becoming  very  well  known  himself. 
I'll  call  on  them  all  to-morrow,  if  you  will  kindly  give  me  their 
addresses/' 

"  With  pleasure,"  answered  the  man,  writing  them  down  im- 
mediately. 

"Not  much  information  there  for  a  fellow,"  said  Teddy 


TEDDY'S    SEARCH.  145 

"  But  it's  a  beginning  anyhow.  And  the  beginning  is  half  the 
battle,  they  say.  I'll  go  to  sleep  on  it." 

The  following  morning  he  visited  all  the  real  estate  firms  in 
Binghamton.  No  one  of  them  had  known  or  heard  of  Paul 
Noble.  Broderick  and  Franklin,  the  two  leading  men,  went  over 
their  books  for  him  to  discover  if  'they  had  had  even  the  slightest 
transactions  with  the  man  in  question,  without  result.  A  little 
bit  perplexed,  Teddy  returned  home  and  sent  for  the  manager 
again. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry  to  trouble  you,"  he  said,  apologetically. 
"  But  I  guess  you're  about  right  on  the  real  estate.  Yet  I  know 
that  the  Nobles  did  stay  here;  if  you'll  ask  your  clerk  to  look 
over  the  list,  you'll  find  out — " 

"  I'll  have  him  do  so  at  once,  now,"  said  the  man.  "  We 
could  have  done  that  last  night  if  I  had  thought  you  wanted  to 
know  anything  but  his  interest  in  real  estate.  Noble,  you  say? 
The  name  sounds  familiar — I  have  surely  heard  it.  Well,  we'll 
see." 

"  Yes — Paul  Noble.  His  life's  name  was  Lucile,  in  case  you 
ever  heard  her  mentioned — " 

"  Supposing  you  come  down  to  the  clerk  yourself  and  ask 
him  ?  He's  got  a  fine  memory ;  perhaps  he  can  hit  it  at  once." 

Teddy  obeyed. 

"  I've  come  to  find  out  if  you  can  remember  a  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Noble  who  lived  here  some  two  years  ago,"  began  Teddy.  "  Paul 
Noble—" 


146  TEDDY'S    SEARCH. 

"The  gambler?"  asked  the  clerk.  "Why,  yes,  I  remember 
him  distinctly.  They  have  not  been  here  in  a  good  two  years, 
though/' 

"  The  gambler  ?  "  repeated  Teddy.  "  I  think  you're  mistaken 
there.  I  heard  he  was  in  the  real  estate  business." 

"Not  the  Paul  Noble  who  stopped  here,"  said  the  clerk. 
"  He  lived  on  his  wits,  I  believe.  He  had  a  very  beautiful  wife, 
if  I  recollect  rightly,  and  he  was  quite  a  good-looking  fellow; 
tall,  dark,  fine  complexion,  well-built." 

"  That  is  he,  without  a  doubt,"  said  Teddy.     His  heart  sank. 

"  A  gambler !  Lived  by  his  wits !  "  And  the  man  was  speak- 
ing of  Lucile's  husband.  "  I  am  interested  in  the  wife,"  he  said, 
"  Her  father  is  ill  and  wants  her  to  return  home.  He  has  lost 
track  of  her.  You  could  not  think  now  of  some  way  I  could 
find  out  where  they  went  when  they  left  here  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Noble  himself  was  a  Western  man — he  told  me  he  was 
going  back  to  his  home — somewhere  in  Colorado." 

"  Somewhere  in  Colorado,"  repeated  Teddy.  "  Eather  de- 
finite, isn't  it?  Well,  I'll  have  to  wait  advices." 

He  wrote  to  Peggy  then — just  a  few  lines,  telling  her  of  his 
non-success,  and  asking  her  to  find  out  all  that  she  could  about 
Paul  Noble,  his  family,  and  his  birthplace.  Peggy  did  then  what 
she  should  have  done  in  the  beginning — consulted  her  brother 
Charlie,  with  the  result  that  Charlie  was  able  to  secure,  without 
Mr.  Tarrant's  knowledge,  the  letter  which  had  come  from  the 
Denver  lawyers. 


TEDDY'S    SEARCH.  147 

And,  with  this  letter  in  his  possession,  Teddy  started  across 
the  continent. 

We  will  pass  over  the  details  of  his  journey  and  of  his  ar- 
rival in  the  city.  A  day's  rest  was  necessary  here,  for  Teddy 
Saunders  detested  traveling  with  a  heartfelt  detestation.  Then 
he  interviewed  the  firm  of  Black  &  Dalzell. 

Yes;  they  knew  of  Paul  Noble.  He  had  been  there  the  year 
before  with  his  wife,  to  claim  a  share  in  the  estate  of  an  uncle 
who  died  intestate.  He  had  settled  with  the  other  heirs,  and, 
they  believed,  gone  East  again.  He  had  spoken  of  going  East. 
Mr.  Black  went  through  a  file  of  letters  thoughtfully  and  pro- 
duced one.  It  bore  on  some  trifling  matters  connected  with  the 
money  which  they  had  recently  paid  to  Paul  Noble,  and  was  post- 
marked from  New  Haven,  Connecticut. 

Teddy  Saunders  looked  grim  when  he  read  the  letter. 

"  The  fellow's  fond  of  traveling,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Black.  "  He  was  always  the  black  sheep — 
never  worth  a  moment's  serious  consideration.  He'd  turn  up 
here  to-day — and  a  month  later  he'd  be  as  far  at  the  other  end  of 
the  globe  as  he  could  get." 

"  Cheerful  news  to  a  man  who  has  to  find  him,"  said  Teddy. 
"  Well,  I'll  have  to  get  to  New  Haven  now — and  I  was  not  very  far 
away  from  it  when  I  started  out  here."  He  groaned.  "  Will  you 
allow  me  to  copy  the  address  of  his  New  Haven  place — probably 
a  hotel,  as  usual." 

"Likely  to  be  a  boarding-house,"  said  Mr.  Black,  cordially, 


148  TEDDY'S    SEARCH. 

for  Teddy's  honest  face  and  manner  had  impressed  him.  "  I  wish 
you  more  success  there  than  you  had  here.  But  why  don't  you 
advertise  for  him?  He  might  be  in  Denver  without  our  firm 
knowing  of  it." 

"  Of  course !  "  said  Teddy.  He  laughed.  "  I'll  do  some  of 
that  at  once.  I  wouldn't  like  to  have  to  come  back  again." 

So  for  the  next  two  weeks  Teddy  stayed  in  the  pleasant  Western 
city,  enjoying  himself  in  a  quiet  way,  but  not  getting  a  bit  further 
in  his  search.  At  the  end  of  that  period  he  returned  East. 

He  had  success  at  once  in  locating  the  small  boarding-house 
in  which  Paul  Noble  and  his  wife  had  lived  when  they  came  back 
from  Denver.  The  owner  of  the  house  remembered  Mrs.  Noble 
particularly  well. 

"  They  lived  here  six  months,"  she  said.  "  Her  little  boy  was 
born  here — and  it  died  here,  too.  I  think  that  was  what  made  her 
so  anxious  to  get  away.  She  couldn't  bear  the  place  after  the  little 
fellow  went.  '  Perhaps  I  had  no  right  to  call  him  David,'  she 
would  say  to  me,  that  sorrowfully.  '  David  seems  to  be  a  fated 
name  in  our  family.' '; 

"Was  she  happy?"  asked  Teddy,  involuntarily.  Then,  as 
the  woman  looked  at  him  with  searching  eyes :  "  I  am  sent  by  her 
family  to  seek  her  and  to  bring  her  home  if  possible.  Tell  me, 
did  she  seem  to  be  happy  ?  " 

"  No,"  said   the  woman,  slowly.      "  She  was  not  happy — 

though  she  never  opened  her  lips,  but  women  have  a  way  of  find- 

,  ing  out  such  things.     Noble  was  a  fine,  pleasant-spoken  man, 


TEDDY'S    SEARCH.  149 

but  be  had  not  the  right  care  for  her — although  I  think  he  liked 
her.  But  I  know  she  followed  him  to  the  door,  begging  of  him 
to  stay  with  her  the  night  the  child  died,  and  he  wouldn't.  *  How 
are  you  going  to  bury  it  ? '  he  asked,  '  if  I  don't  go  out  ? '  The 
little  chap  wasn't  dead  then,  and  the  words  cut  her  right  to  the 
heart.  But  she  said  nothing,  and  when  I  went  up  to  sit  with 
her,  I  wouldn't  have  known  that  she  minded  being  alone  if  I 
hadn't  heard  him  say  the  words.  She  was  a  brave  woman,  but 
so  sad,  so  very  sad,  always/' 

Teddy  turned  away  to  hide  the  tears  that  sprang  to  his  eyes. 
She  was  speaking  of  Lucile!  Of  Lucile,  the  cherished  darling 
of  her  father's  heart !  Mrs.  Lee's  eyes  were  wet  at  the  remem- 
brance. 

"  I  advised  her  to  leave  the  man,"  went  on  the  woman.  ,  "  I 
asked  her  if  she  had  any  folks,  and  when  she  told  me  '  Yes '  I 
almost  begged  of  her  to  go  straight  home  to  them  as  soon  as  the 
baby  was  buried.  That  was  the  next  day — Mr.  Noble  never  came 
home  all  night,  and  I  was  furious  at  him.  But  she  smiled  in  that 
way  she  had.  'One  can't  do  that/  she  said.  'I  took  him  for 
better,  for  worse,  and  he's  my  husband,  and  with  him  I'll  stay 
until  he  himself  casts  me  off/ 

"  Of  course  I  said  nothing  after  that/'  she  went  on.  "  No 
one  could,  and  two  weeks  later  she  left." 

"To  go  where?"  asked  Teddy,  impetuously. 

"  To  New  York  City,  I  believe.  She  promised  to  write  to 
me  and  to  let  me  know  how  she  got  along,  but  you  know  how  far 


1-50  TEDDY'S    SEARCH. 

such  promises  carry.  Though,  dear  knows,  I  would  have  been 
glad  to  hear  from  her.  If  you  see  her,  will  you  remember  to  tell 
her,  sir?" 

"  I  will/'  said  Teddy,  his  heart  warming  to  this  woman  who 
had  such  a  kindly  word  for  the  unfortunate  girl.  He  knew  now 
how  unfortunate.  And  that  Lucile  should  have  had  to  suffer 
this  loneliness  and  this  humiliation !  It  seemed  unbearable. 

He  adopted  the  methods  in  New  Haven  that  he  had  in 
Denver — advertising  in  all  the  local  papers.  With  the  same  result 
— nothing.  Then  he  went  to  New  York.  The  trail  was  a  blind 
one  now,  and  if  he  heard  no  news  here,  he  had  nothing  further  to 
work  on;  knew  no  other  way  to  find  the  missing  pair.  In  every 
newspaper  in  the  city  and  its  vicinity  he  inserted  the  same  ad- 
vertisements, and  when  nothing  came  he  sat  down  and  pondered, 

He  felt  that  now  he  was  at  the  end — that  if  he  wanted  to 
discover  any  trace  he  must  call  in  outside  help.  But  who?  A 
private  detective?  He  frowned  at  the  very  thought.  So  his 
pondering  came  to  a  halt,  and  he  gave  up  in  despair. 

He  knew  that  he  would  have  to  return  home — to  Peggy,  who 
trusted  in  his  ability — he  would  have  to  return  home  with  not 
a  single  thing  to  show  for  all  these  weeks  away  from  her.  Weeks ! 
He  had  started  out  in  June  and  it  was  now  the  end  of  August. 

He  sat  with  a  newspaper  spread  out  on  his  lap,  his  eyes  care- 
lessly scanning  the  headlines,  for  his  thoughts  were  full  of  the  one 
great  subject.  Suddenly  a  light  broke  over  his  face. 

"  Captain  Fitch  says  that  every  gambling-house  in  his  pre- 


TEDDY'S    SEARCH.  151 

cinct  is  known  to  him,  and  that  within  the  next  forty-eight  hours 
he  will  have  them  all  closed  up." 

A  common  enough  declaration  in  these  days — but  the  words 
gave  Teddy  Saunders  the  light  he  needed.  He  looked  at  his 
watch — ten  o'clock.  He'd  try  to  carry  out  the  plan  that  had  come 
to  him.  If  every  gambling-house  was  known  to  such  men  as 
Captain  Fitch,  why  not  the  gamblers  also  ?  A  half -hour  later  he 
was  at  Police  Headquarters. 

He  stated  briefly,  succinctly,  just  what  he  wanted,  and  briefly, 
succinctly,  they  consulted  a  few  records  and  told  him  where  he 
would  be  apt  to  find  Paul  Noble. 

"  He's  in  the  city,  sure ;  one  of  the  worst  in  the  bunch,"  was 
the  information  he  received. 

"  The  trouble  is  I  may  not  be  able  to  recognize  him/'  said 
Teddy.  "  Is  there  any  of  your  men  could  help  me  ?  I  only  met 
him  two  or  three  times  in  my  life,  and  I'm  apt  to  pass  him  by  on 
the  street.  I've  been  advertising  for  him  for  the  last  three 
weeks,  but  it  hasn't  been  of  any  use." 

A  "  plain  clothes  "  man  was  detailed  to  accompany  him  that 
evening  to  the  resorts  where  Paul  Noble  was  possibly  to  be  found. 
Nor  did  the  light  that  had  illuminated  Teddy's  mind  that  day  fail 
him  here.  In  the  very  first  rooms  they  entered  the  detective 
pointed  to  a  man  lounging  in  an  easy-chair  near  the  door. 

"  There's  Noble,"  he  said.  "  I  guess  you  won't  need  me  any 
longer." 

Teddy   hesitated.       He    saw    Paul    Noble    looking    at    him, 


152  TEDDY'S    SEARCH. 

curiously.  He  had  spoken  truly  when  he  said  that  he  would  not 
have  recognized  him.  The  pace  at  which  this  man  was  living 
was  destroying  the  handsome  outlines  that  had  won  Lucile  Tar- 
rant's  heart.  The  eyes  were  blood-shot,  the  cheeks  flabby,  and  the 
restless,  nervous  movements  betrayed  the  dissipation  that  was 
undermining  his  constitution.  Very  slowly  Teddy  advanced  and 
stood  in  front  of  him. 

"If  you  are  Paul  Noble,  may  I  speak  to  you  outside?"  he 
asked. 


FAILURE.  153 


CHAPTEE   XVI. 

FAILURE. 

"  WHAT  do  you  want  with  me  ?  " 

He  spoke  the  question  surlily — flung  it  at  him,  in  fact,  and 
a  hot  retort  rose  to  Teddy's  lips.  But  he  choked  it  back. 

"  Simply  to  ask  you  a  few  queetions." 

"Ask  them  here." 

"  I  can  not.     This  is  no  place  for  them." 

"  It's  good  enough  for  me." 

"But  not  for  the  subject  on  which  I  have  to  speak,"  said 
Teddy,  and  the  words  were  sharp.  "  Your  wife." 

"  My  wife !  "  Noble  half  rose — then  sank  back  again.  "  A 
wife's  place  is  with  her  husband — I  do  not  object  to  talking  of  her 
here." 

Teddy  looked  down  at  him,  uncertain  what  method  to  pursue. 
The  detective  who  had  accompanied  him  still  lingered  at  the  door, 
and  now  an  elderly  man,  the  proprietor  of  the  place,  evidently, 
came  over  and  said  a  few  words  in  an  undertone  to  Noble.  To 
Teddy  it  seemed  like  an  admonition.  Noble  rose,  sulkily  enough, 
shrugging  his  shoulders. 


164  FAILURE. 

"  Go  ahead/'  he  said,  "  I'm  with  you."  He  walked  out  with 
him  along  the  street  to  the  corner.  Here  Teddy  paused  and  faced 
him. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  where  I  can  have  an  interview  wifh  your 
wife?" 

Noble  threw  back  his  head,  laughing. 

"  That's  a  cool  question.  Will  you  tell  me  why  you  want  to 
have  an  interview  with  my  wife?" 

"  Yes.  Her  father  is  growing  blind.  He  wants  to  see  her 
once  more  before  his  sight  fails  him.  I  volunteered  to  come  to 
find  you.  I  have  been  to  Binghamton  and  to  Denver,  and  to  New 
Haven.  I  have  advertised  for  you  in  every  American  news- 
paper. Did  you  not  see  the  advertisements?" 

"Yes — I  saw  them.  But  I  wasn't  to  be  caught  by  any  ad- 
vertisement, you  know.  I  might  have  known  it  was  some  one  on 
a  fool's  errand."  He  laughed  coarsely.  "  Not  much  to  be  afraid 
of  in  you,  is  there  ?  " 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Teddy,  controlling  the  desire  that  rose 
in  him  to  grasp  this  fellow  by  the  throat  and  shake  him.  "  But 
that  is  neither  here  nor  there.  Will  you  take  me  to  Lucile  now  ? 
I  am  anxious  to  have  this  over." 

"  I'll  think  about  it,"  said  Noble,  curtly,  his  manner  changing. 
"  Where  are  you  stopping?  " 

"  At  the  Fulton." 

"How  did  you  find  me?" 

"  By  the  odor  in  which  you  are  held  at  Police  Headquarters," 


FAILURE.  155 

said  Teddy.  He  could  not  resist  the  fling.  It  did  not  anger 
Noble.  Instead  it  seemed  to  amuse  him  highly. 

"  You're  not  so  stupid  after  all,  then,"  he  said,  and  the  words 
were  an  insult. 

Again  Teddy's  anger  rose,  and  again  he  controlled  it.  Noble's 
manner  became  more  crafty,  more  confident. 

"  I  suppose  you  come  with  all  sorts  of  inducements,  all  sorts 
of  promises.  I  will  never  go  back  to  that  one-horse  town." 

"  But  your  wife — surely  you  will  allow  her  to  visit  her  people, 
her  mother — " 

"  I  allow  nothing.  If  she  cares  to  go,  she  can.  Wish  she 
would.  I'd  be  well  rid  of  her." 

The  veins  stood  out  on  Teddy's  forehead  like  cords. 

"  Are  you  talking  of  Lucile  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  am  talking  of  Lucile." 

There  was  silence.  Teddy  dared  not  trust  himself  to  speak. 
There  was  no  encouragement  in  the  other's  voice  or  manner.  The 
young  man  was  at  a  loss — what  could  he  say  next — how  induce 
this  creature  to  bring  him  to  Lucile? 

"  I'm  sure  it  would  give  your  wife  great  pleasure  to  hear  from 
her  home,"  he  said  then.  "  Will  you  excuse  me  for  forcing  my- 
self upon  you?  But  I  should  dislike  to  return  without  having 
seen  her,  now  that  I  am  so  near — " 

"  That  will  do,"  said  Noble.  "  She  can  live  without  hearing 
from  her  home,  or  without  seeing  you,  either/' 

"You  refuse,  then — " 


156  FAILURE. 

"  I  refuse.  That  ought  to  be  enough,  oughtn't  it  ?  I  refuse 
to  allow  you  to  see  her,  or  to  bring  her  news  from  her  home." 

"  May  I  ask  your  reasons  ?     Surely  there  would  be  no  harm — " 

"  I  do  not  choose  to  give  my  reasons.     I  might  ask  yours." 

"  Simply  the  desire  of  an  old  friend  to  convey  to  her  the  love 
of  her  family,  and  to  tell  her  that  her  father — " 

"  She  has  not  found  her  father  necessary  to  her  in  two  years. 
I  don't  see  that  he  is  necessary  to  her  any  more  to-day  than  she 
was  to  him  the  day  he  turned  her  out." 

"  Surely  you  do  not  harbor  resentment  still  ?  "  asked  Teddy,  but 
his  lips  were  pale  with  passion.  "  His  was  the  natural  anger  of  a 
man  who — " 

"  I  beg  to  be  excused,"  said  Noble. 

"  If  you  will  not  allow  me  to  see  her,  will  you  at  least  tell  her 
that  her  home  people  are  anxiously  awaiting  news  from  her  ?  Tell 
her  to  write  to  them.  Or  if  you  change  your  mind,"  he  pulled  out 
his  wallet,  "  here  is  my  card.  The  name  of  the  hotel  at  which  I 
am  stopping  is  scribbled  on  the  back — write  me  or  telephone  me 
there  any  time  within  the  next  two  weeks." 

Noble  took  the  card  carelessly  and  slipped  it  into  his  pocket. 
There  was  a  half-mocking  smile  on  his  lips.  Teddy  stood  look- 
ing at  him,  squaring  his  broad  shoulders,  and  in  the  lamplight, 
streaming  full  into  his  face,  Noble  read  the  expression  of  disgust 
and  contempt. 

"  As  for  you,"  said  Teddy,  then,  slowly.  "  I  don't  know  how 
far  you  have  descended  in  the  scale,  or  how  utterly  lacking  in 


FAILURE.  157 

decency  you  are.  It  may  even  be  possible  that  you  beat  your  wife 
— I  would  not  be  at  all  surprised.  But  you  are  a  contemptible 
cur  and  I'd  like  to  kick  you  from  here  to  Denver,  where  you  came 
from,  and  back  again." 

Noble's  fist  flew  out  instantly  and  his  eyes  flamed.  But 
Teddy's  iron  fingers  parried  the  blow,  caught  the  other's  two 
wrists,  and  held  them  in  a  grip  like  a  vise. 

"  I  can  assure  you  that  under  the  circumstances  I  will  not 
thrash  you,"  he  said.  "  Perhaps  you'd  go  home  and  make  Lucile 
suffer  for  it.  But  if  ever  the  day  comes  when  I  can  do  so,  I 
promise  you  the  finest  dressing-down  you  ever  received  or  ever 
will  receive  in  your  life.  Faugh ! "  He  gave  him  a  push  that 
sent  him  reeling.  "  Shoot  me  now,  if  you  like — I've  heard  of 
your  kind,"  he  said,  and  turning  on  his  heel,  he  walked  away, 
unable  to  trust  himself  another  moment  in  Noble's  hateful  pres- 
ence. 

Noble  did  not  stir — then  he  slowly  took  the  piece  of  paste- 
board out  of  his  pocket  and  tore  it  into  fragments. 

"  If  you  expect  to  see  my  wife,  young  man,"  he  said,  with  an 
evil  smile  on  his  lips,  "you'll  have  some  chance  bring  you  to- 
gether. Not  I.  So  the  old  man  is  sorry — and  he  wants  to  have 
his  daughter  return,  and  talk  sermons  by  the  hour  to  her  hus- 
band— "  He  laughed.  "  I'm  past  sermonizing.  There  was  a 
time  when  I  felt  that  I  could  take  to  it  kindly — but  that  was 
only  once  in  my  life.  It  will  never  come  again — never." 

He  went  back  to  the  gambling-house  where  Teddy  Saunders 


168  FAILURE. 

had  found  him.  He  was  usually  a  heavy  "  plunger,"  but  to- 
night he  exceeded  bounds,  playing  with  a  recklessness  fairly  as- 
tonishing to  those  who  knew  him  well.  He  won,  too.  But  this 
did  not  elate  him  in  the  slightest,  even  though  his  "  luck,"  as  he 
termed  it,  for  the  last  two  months  had  been  more  than  poor. 

At  four  o'clock  that  morning  he  walked  swiftly  along  a  quiet 
street  on  the  West  Side  of  the  city,  and  when  he  reached  the 
middle  of  the  block,  he  let  himself  into  the  house  with  a  latch-key. 
It  was  a  second-rate  boarding-house,  and  he  and  Lucile  had  rooms 
on  the  first  floor. 

Never  once  during  all  her  two  years  of  married  life  had  Lucile 
Noble  realized  her  desire  for  a  home.  Such  places  as  these,  some 
better,  some  worse,  all  indifferent,  made  the  background  of  her 
days  during  this  time.  Constantly  shifting,  too,  from  one  to  the 
other.  Never  settled  down,  always  ready  to  pack  up  what  house- 
hold goods  she  might  possess,  and  follow  the  man  she  called  her 
husband  wherever  he  chose  to  go. 

It  had  been  martyrdom. 

***** 

The  dawn  of  the  summer  morning  filled  the  room  as  he  entered, 
and  by  its  light  he  saw  his  wife,  seated,  dressed  in  a  loose  garment, 
in  the  chair  at  the  window.  The  night  had  been  oppressively  warm, 
and  she  could  not  sleep.  So  she  had  sat  up  the  better  part  of  it, 
and  at  last  tired  nature  conquered.  She  lay  back,  her  hands 
folded  in  her  lap,  her  face  turned  from  the  window  toward  the 
door,  and  as  Paul  Noble  closed  it  behind  him,  he  thought  she  was 


FAILURE.  1F9 

3ooking  at  him,  so  dark  were  the  shadows  her  lashes  cast  beneath 
her  eyes. 

Perhaps  his  encounter  with  Teddy  Saunders  had  sharpened 
his  wits  where  she  was  concerned.  He  stood  looking  at  her,  with 
frowning  brows. 

She  had  never  recovered  from  the  sorrow  i>f  her  child's  death, 

I 
and  he  knew,  too,  in  some  subtle  way,  that  all  the  love  she  had  for 

him  died  the  night  on  which  their  little  bov  had  breathed  his 
last.  He  knew  that  duty  held  her  to  him — a  wrd  that  has  bound 
many  families  together  long  after  love  is  e:  tinguished.  She 
never  complained,  never  upbraided,  never  protested.  Had  she 
been  less  stoical  in  her  endurance,  she  might  have  been  able  to  do 
more  with  the  man,  but  her  silence  angered  him. 

To-day  her  face  was  more  peaceful  than  he  had  observed  it  in 
months.  The  lines  of  repression  about  the  mouth  were  smoothed 
away,  the  brow  was  unwrinkled.  Paul  Noble  knew  that  his  wife 
was  as  far  from  him  in  thought  and  feeling  as  the  stars  were  from 
the  earth,  and  the  impotence  of  his  nature  to  rise  to  her  height 
enraged  him  rather  than  made  him  sorry.  Again  and  again  he 
alluded  to  her  "  standing  above  him,"  but  she  never  heeded.  She 
had  cast  her  lot  with  him,  and  until  he  refused  to  have  anything 
to  do  with  her  she  would  abide  with  him.  More  than  once  in  her 
desolate  life  the  longing  for  home  and  for  home  love  swept  across 
her,  but  then  she  threw  herself  upon  her  knees  and  begged  God  to 
take  the  longing  and  the  desire  away. 

For  she  had  learned  to  pray.     She  had  never  done  so  until 


160  FAILURE. 

her  last  hope  was  gone,  and  that  was  when  the  grave  closed  on 
the  tiny  white  coffin  that  held  the  body  of  her  child.  Some  of 
Peggy's  simple  faith  came  to  her  in  the  frightful  melancholy 
that  took  possession  of  her  then — Peggy's  faith,  intensified  and 
beautified  now  that  she  was  so  far  away  from  them.  She  knew 
what  Leila  suffered,  then;  she  knew  that  Leila's  faith  had  been 
her  saving,  and  so,  crudely,  ignorantly  enough,  she  reached  up 
out  of  the  darkness ;  reached  up  her  trembling  hands  and  begged 
a  God  who  was  preparing  her,  in  this  wise,  for  His  heavenly 
kingdom,  to  have  pity  and  to  spare — to  help  her  to  do  the  duty 
which  her  folly  had  brought  upon  her. 

God  heard  the  prayer  and  heeded.  And  she  took  up  her 
weary  life  and  went  on  with  it,  and  endured  it,  just  as  she  asked 
God  to  permit  her  to  do.  Gradually  she  gave  up  thoughts  of  re- 
claiming her  husband.  His  words,  his  actions,  showed  her  that 
he  had  long  been  past  reclamation.  Her  bitterest  hours  were 
those,  when,  instead  of  walking  into  their  home,  he  fell  into  it, 
often  lying  where  he  had  fallen,  in  drunken  stupor.  She  could 
not  touch  him,  then.  She  was  not  afraid  of  him  at  any  time, 
but  she  had  never  even  spoken  to  him  when  he  was  in  his  cups. 
Some  pride  restrained  her;  she  was  not  disgusted,  either — but 
she  simply  felt  toward  him  as  one  human  being  of  a  proud  and 
lofty  spirit  must  feel  toward  another  human  being  who  wilfully 
degrades  himself. 

Paul  Noble,  on  the  other  hand,  really  thought  he  treated  his 
wife  remarkably  well.  He  gave  her  enough  to  eat  and  enough  to 


FAILURE.  161 

wear;  she  always  had  a  roof  above  her  head.      That  she  asked 
nothing  but  bare  necessities  never  struck  him — his  was  not  an 
observant  nature.  That  she  seldom  smiled  scarcely  troubled  him 
-he  was  enjoying  his  own  mode  of  life  too  well  to  bother  whether 
she  was  happy  or  not.     But  the  meeting  with  Teddy  Saunders  had 
stirred  him.     Not  to  his  betterment.     He  stood,  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  frowning.     And  then  a  light  seemed  to  break  over 
him.     He  leaned  forward  and  touched  her. 
"  Wake  up/'  he  said. 


162  PAUL   NOBLE'S    WIFE. 


CHAPTEE   XVII. 
PAUL  NOBLE'S  WIFE. 

LUCILE  woke  with  a  start.  Her  eyes,  heavy  with  sleep,  met 
her  husband's  glance  with  an  altogether  new  expression — as  if 
slumber  had  stolen  away  the  mask  worn  by  the  woman  he  knew. 
She  looked  at  him  very  quietly,  and  then  about  her. 

"  I  must  have  fallen  asleep/'  she  said.  "  How  light  it  is ! 
You  have  just  come  in  ?  " 

"  Yes/'  he  answered,  "  I've  just  come  in.  I  want  you  to  be 
ready  to  leave  here  at  ten  o'clock.  We  must  find  some  other 
boarding-house." 

She  bent  her  head,  asking  no  questions.  She  had  heard  similar 
words  too  often  to  be  astonished  by  them.  He  walked  toward 
the  bedroom. 

"  If  you  go  to  sleep,"  she  said,  "  I  shall  not  be  able  to  wake 
you  at  ten  o'clock — remember  that.  It  is  five  now." 

He  did  not  answer  this,  nor  did  Lucile  expect  an  answer.  She 
dressed  herself  very  slowly,  gathered  together  what  few  personal 
belongings  there  were  in  the  room  and  packed  them.  It  was  just 
half-past  five  then — too  early  for  breakfast.  She  felt  languid, 


PAUL   NOBLE'S    WIFE.  163 

tired,  oppressed  by  the  heat.  She  put  on  her  hat  and  went  down- 
stairs and  out  into  the  open  air. 

She  loved  the  hours  of  the  early  summer  dawn — they  re- 
minded her  of  the  untainted  sweetness  of  the  Hubbold  air — 
there  was  something  fresh  and  pure  in  the  dew  that  night  had 
bestowed  while  the  busy  city  slept,  and  which  the  rising  sun 
would  soon  consume.  Beyond  the  settled  melancholy  of  her  face 
she  had  changed  little  in  two  years.  It  seemed,  sometimes,  as 
if  her  life's  great  disappointment  had  taken  the  power  of  suffer- 
ing away  from  her.  The  poignant  anguish  she  felt  when  her 
child  died  had  given  way  to  a  mute  gratitude  now  that  God  had 
taken  him.  The  thought  that  perhaps  he  would  grow  to  manhood 
inheriting  the  vices  of  drink  and  gaming  that  were  ruining  Paul's 
life  and  had  spoiled  her  own,  was  the  chief  reason  of  her  gratitude. 

But  her  husband  had  roused  her  from  a  dream  of  home.  She 
had  been  standing  on  the  steps  of  Hubbold  Hall,  watching  Teddy 
Saunders  drive  away  the  day  she  had  refused  him.  It  had  been 
a  very  vivid  dream,  and  when  Noble  woke  her  she  could  scarcely 
collect  herself  for  a  few  moments.  She  had  been  looking  into 
Teddy's  disappointed  face,  into  his  honest  eyes,  and  the  contrast 
struck  her  sharply.  She  felt  that  she  must  get  out  into  the  street 
and  follow  up  the  train  of  thought  this  dream  had  brought  her. 

She  had  been  very  happy  then.  She  had  not  known  her  hap- 
piness— the  happiness  of  an  honest  life,  a  respectable  life.  To 
a  girl  brought  up  in  such  home  influences,  the  existence  she  led 
now  seemed  like  a  frightful  nightmare;  and  if  she  permitted  a 


164  PAUL   NOBLE'S    WIFE. 

single  rebellious  feeling  to  conquer  her  she  knew  that  she  could 
not  go  on  with  it.  So  she  set  her  teeth  grimly  and  endured.  She 
had  bought  this  fate,  bought  it  with  open  eyes,  and  with  open 
eyes  she  would  pay  the  price. 

She  was  half-afraid  now  to  risk  letting  her  mind  dwell  on 
home  and  her  home  folk — but  suddenly  she  understood  that  in- 
stead of  exciting,  it  seemed  to  soothe  her,  and  she  allowed  her 
imagination  to  take  her  where  it  would.  It  was  sweet  to  think 
of  them ;  to  call  upPeggy's  laughing  face,  to  look  into  her  father's 
kind  old  eyes.  Even  her  mother,  so  silent  and  so  cold,  seemed 
surrounded  by  a  tenderness  that  she  had  never  felt  when  near  her. 

"  People  change  so,"  she  thought.  "  People  forget — even  your 
nearest  and  dearest.  I  remember  because  I  am  not  happy. 
Would  I  remember  if  Paul  had  been  what  I  imagined  he  was, 
and  had  fulfilled  my  expectations?  I  remember  because  I 
have  not  done  right.  They  have  always  done  right — they  have 
nothing  to  expiate :  do  they  remember  me  ?  " 

She  stopped  and  turned  her  face  to  the  blue  sky  above  her. 

"  Do  they  think  of  me  at  home  ?  "  she  asked,  half  aloud — 
and  then  recollected  herself  and  glanced  •  about  her  hurriedly. 
No  one  was  near.  Some  distance  ahead  a  man  was  walking — a 
well-built  fellow,  young,  she  could  tell  by  the  manner  in  which 
he  carried  himself.  There  was  something  in  the  straight  back 
and  the  poise  of  the  brown  head  that  reminded  her  of  Ted  Saun- 
ders.  Her  heart  began  to  beat  rapidly.  Poor  old  Ted !  He  and 
Peggy  were  probably  married  by  this — he  and  Peggy  were  happy. 


PAUL    NOBLE'S    WIFE.  168 

"  I  hope  they  are  that  always  wherever  they  may  be,"  she 
said.  But  her  eyes  sought  that  figure  questioningly.  How  like 
he  was  to  Teddy — his  walk — the  manner  in  which  he  swung  his 
arms.  And  he  turned  and  went  into  the  church  in  the  middle 
of  the  block.  Lucile  stood  still.  What  a  resemblance  even  at  this 
distance!  She  walked  forward  slowly,  passing  the  church  door 
and  glancing  in.  The  priest  was  on  the  altar  just  beginning 
Mass.  Lucile  hesitated.  She  had  not  been  inside  any  building 
of  this  sort  since  she  left  Hubbold — and  this,  the  first  impulse 
to  enter  one,  came  at  the  door  of  a  church  of  Peggy's  faith. 

Would  she  enter?  Was  there  anything  like  comfort  to  be 
found  here?  Would  she  feel  more  at  peace,  would  she  learn 
another  reason  for  her  suffering  besides  that  which  she  already 
knew  ?  Peggy  had  found  consolation  in  religion — Leila — Charlie : 
would  she,  a  being  outside  the  fold,  find  it?  Almost  uncon- 
sciously she  put  her  foot  upon  the  step,  but  as  she  did  so  a  violent 
trembling  seized  her.  No.  She  would  not  ask  anything  more 
from  God — except  the  endurance  He  had  bestowed  upon  her. 
Not  yet — not  until  she  had  paid  the  penalty  in  full.  She  drew 
back  and  turned  away,  and  with  bent  head  went  on  down  the 
street. 

Teddy  Saunders,  coming  out  when  Mass  was  over,  had  a 
peculiar  expression  on  his  face.  Strangely  enough,  he  had  felt  the 
presence  of  the  one  he  sought — and  the  fervor  that  feeling  brought 
to  his  prayers  seemed  to  convince  him  that  he  would  indeed  see  her. 
So  strong  was  this  impression  that  he  paused  outside  and  looked 


166  PAUL   NOBLE'S    WIFE. 

around  him,  his  eyes  eagerly  searching  the  face  of  every  woman 
as  she  left  the  church.  He  hated  to  confess,  as  he  returned  to 
his  hotel,  that  he  was  disappointed.  It  did  not  seem  altogether 
manly  to  be  so  influenced  by  what  he  called  a  natural  nervousness. 
He  had  been  so  long  living  in  hopes  of  seeing  Lucile  that  it  seemed 
as  if  his  hopes  in  the  end  must  bear  fruit. 

After  her  breakfast  Lucile  roused  her  husband.  He  got 
up,  paid  their  bill  to  the  landlady,  and  telling  her  to  put  on  her 
hat  again,  left  the  house.  She  did  not  ask  where  they  were  ?oing, 
but  she  looked  a  little  puzzled  when  she  saw  the  street  into  which 
he  finally  turned.  Once  one  of  the  finest  quarters  of  the  city, 
it  had  fallen  into  a  state  of  gradual  decay,  and  now  the  wretched 
dwellings  were  sadly  in  need  of  repair.  Lucile  shrank  close  to 
her  husband's  side  as  he  halted  outside  what  appeared  to  her  to 
be  the  worst  and  most  wretched  of  the  lot.  But  she  asked  no 
questions.  He  went  up  two  flights  of  stairs,  tapped  on  the  door, 
which  was  opened  to  him  by  a  woman  who  seemed  to  have  grown 
old  in  uncleanliness,  and  then  beckoned  to  his  wife,  who  shrank, 
this  time,  away  from  him. 

"  Come  in,"  he  said,  "  come  in.  This  is  my  wife,  Mrs. 
Miggs.  Have  you  the  hall  room  empty?  I  want  to  take  it,  and 
the  front  room  as  well." 

"  The  front  room  is  full,"  said  Mrs.  Miggs.  "  But  the  hall 
room  you  can  have,  and,  if  you  stay  for  a  month,  I'll  let  you  have 
the  other." 

"  Oh,  we'll  stay,"  he  said,  carelessly.     "  Show  us  the  room." 


PAUL   NOBLE'S    WIFE.  167 

and  wife,  at  her  bidding,  followed  her.  She  unlocked 
the  door  at  the  other  end  of  the  hall,  and  then  extended  the  key 
to  Paul  Noble. 

"  My  terms  is  cash  in  advance  for  the  week/'  she  said. 

"  Here's  your  money/'  He  put  a  bill  in  her  hand  as  he  spoke. 
She  went  away  again,  and  he  and  Lucile  were  alone.  The  wife 
looked  around  the  narrow  room.  There  was  nothing  in  it  but  a 
single  bed,  a  washstand,  and  a  chair,  with  a  few  hooks  on  the 
wall  on  which  to  hang  their  clothing.  Not  a  muscle  of  her  face 
moved.  She  took  the  pins  from  her  hat  and  laid  it  on  the  bed — 
then  went  to  the  window  and  looked  down  into  the  street.  The 
view  was  not  encouraging,  but  still  she  showed  no  emotion.  Lift- 
ing up  the  dressing-case,  she  proceeded  to  open  it,  and  to  take 
out  the  different  articles  of  clothing  it  contained. 

Paul  Noble  sat  in  the  chair  watching  her.  There  was  a 
strange  gleam  in  his  eyes,  cruel  lines  about  his  mouth. 

"  We  will  eat  in  a  restaurant,"  he  said.  "  This  woman  does 
not  furnish  meals.  For  the  present  I  am  going  to  finish  my 
sleep."  He  threw  himself,  dressed  as  he  was,  upon  the  bed,  and 
laughed.  "  I  wonder  what  our  father  would  say  could  he  see 
us  now." 

She  did  not  answer  him.  He  lay  expecting  an  answer,  but 
phe  did  not  give  it.  He  raised  himself  on  one  elbow. 

"  Any  time  you  feel  so  disposed,"  he  said.  "  Any  time  at  all, 
you  can  go  to  him." 

Then  he  went  to  sleep. 


168  PAUL   NOBLE'S    WIFE. 

Lucile  drew  the  one  chair  up  to  the  window  and  sat  with  her 
back  turned  to  the  bed.  She  wondered,  vaguely,  how  she  could 
endure  it — why  she  had  no  inclination  to  rebel.  She  was  con- 
scious of  a  sort  of  regret  that  she  had  not  entered  the  church 
that  morning;  it  might  have  made  her  better,  it  might  have  made 
her  happier —  She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  Whenever  she  was 
so  disposed  she  could  go  to  her  father. 

Go  to  her  father ! 

No ;  she  would  not  think  of  that.  The  end  was  not  yet.  She 
had  not  suffered  enough.  As  soon  as  she  felt  that  the  atonement 
was  sufficient  she  would  go.  But  not  until  then. 

Three  hours  later,  when  Paul  Noble  woke,  he  saw  her  sitting 
in  that  same  position.  He  woke  in  a  very  bad  humor,  for  it  was 
insufferably  warm,  and  the  atmosphere  of  the  tiny  room  stifling. 
He  mopped  his  face  and  neck  with  the  one  towel,  and  put  on  a 
fresh  collar. 

"  Get  ready,"  he  said,  "  we'll  have  something  to  eat.  Get 
up,  move  around,  do  something.  Don't  sit  there  with  the  face  of 
an  image."  He  turned  on  her  with  sudden  fury.  "  I  suppose 
you  think  you're  badly  used — that  you're  a  martyr  and  all  that. 
Let  me  tell  you  I  am  sick  and  tired  of  your  long  face  and  your 
glum  ways." 

"I  know  it,"  said  Lucile.  "I'm  sorry.  There  is  a  way  of 
escape  for  you." 

"  Oh,  yes,  and  for  you." 

She  shook  her  head. 


PAUL   NOBLE'S    WIFE.  169 

"  You  may  leave  me,"  she  said,  "  whenever  you  please.  I  have 
told  you  that  before.  Until  then  it  is  my  duty  to  stay." 

"  A  good  excuse,"  he  said.  "  Perhaps  if  you  met  your  friend 
Teddy—" 

He  paused.  She  looked  at  him  with  suddenly  startled  eyes  and 
ashen  face. 

"What  did  you  say?" 

J  d 

"  I  do  not  think  your  friend  Teddy  Saunders — do  you  re- 
member him  ? — would  have  to  ask  you  twice  to  return  home  with 
him.  Are  you  sorry  he  is  not  here  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Lucile,  steadily. 

"  Oh,  you  would  not  go  back  with  him  ?  " 

"Go  back  with  him?"  She  stopped  short.  "Then  Teddy 
is  here!  Teddy  is  here!" 

Her  voice  shook. 

"  When  did  you  see  him  ?  "  she  asked,  after  she  had  recovered 
herself. 

It  was  not  worth  while  to  equivocate. 

"  Last  night,"  he  answered. 

"Did  he  speak— of  me?" 

"  Very  little."  He  looked  at  her  contemplatively.  "  He  is  here 
on  his  wedding-trip." 

Whatever  he  meant  to  discover  by  that  remark  escaped  him. 
Lucile  scarcely  heard ;  her  lips  were  trembling. 

"  My  father — did  he  mention  my  father  ?  " 

"He's  well— that's  all." 


170  PAUL    NOBLE'S    WIFE. 

She  winced.  Her  heart  began  to  aohe  a  little  under  the  calm 
which  had  become  habitual. 

"  So  he  did  not  want  to  see  me  ?  "  she  asked,  doubtfully.  "  But 
you  knew  he  came  from  home — you  knew  I  would  want  to  see 
him.  Why  did  you  not  ask  him  to  wait  ?  Why  did  you  not  bring 
him  with  you  ?  Oh,  you  knew  I  would  want  to  talk —  Where  did 
you  meet  him?" 

"  In  Boiling's  place/' 

"  Boiling's !  "  Her  eyes  widened.  "  Why,  that  is  the  gambling- 
house,  isn't  it,  that  you  told  me  of  ?  " 

"Yes.  That'-s  all  right.  I  guess  Teddy  Saundere  isn't  a 
saint,  either,  although  you  seem  to  think  him  one." 

"  No,"  said  Lucile.  "  He  is  no  saint,  but  at  least  he's  honor- 
able. Was  your  meeting  an  accident  ?  " 

"  Purely  accidental." 

"And  Teddy  gambled?" 

"  He  lost  all  he  gambled  on." 

Lucile's  lips  set  tightly  together. 

"  I  do  not  believe  you,"  she  said.  "  Teddy  Saunders  would 
not  do  a  thing  like  that  on  his  wedding-trip,  and  after  doing  it  he 
would  not  go  to  Mass  as  he  did  this  morning.  Oh,  to  think — 
it  must  have  been  Teddy  after  all ! " 

It  was  Noble's  turn  to  be  surprised. 

"Mass  this  morning?  You  mean,  then,  that  you  have  seen 
him?" 

She  did  not  answer. 


PAUL   NOBLE'S    WIFE.  171 

"  You  have  seen  him  !  "  he  said,  between  his  shut  teeth.  "  Well, 
you're  mine,  do  you  hear?  I  own  you — you  belong  to  me,  let 
who  will  come  after  you.  You  think  that  your  father  has  sent 
him,  that  he  is  looking  for  you — " 

"  No,"  said  Lucile,  quietly.  "  I  did  not.  But  I  am  glad.  I 
thought  they  had  forgotten.  I  am  very  glad.  And,"  she  went 
on,  "  I  do  realize  that  I  belong  to  you,  let  who  will  come  after  me." 

The  words,  the  note  in  them  silenced  him.    He  said  no  more. 


178  THE    ADVERTISEMENT. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  ADVERTISEMENT. 

IF  Lucile's  life  had  been  martyrdom  before,  it  became,  for  the 
next  few  days,  veritable  agony  in  the  mental  torment  she  endured. 
She  had  endured  in  silence  the  neglect  of  the  man  whose  name 
she  bore ;  she  had  never  questioned  his  actions,  but  now  the  thought 
that  those  who  loved  her  had  been  so  near — perhaps  seeking  her ; 
the  thought  that  she  had  seen  Teddy — there  was  no  doubt  in  her 
mind  that  the  man  who  entered  the  little  church  was  he — and  that 
she  had  let  him  go  away  from  her  without  a  sign,  caused  her  the 
greatest  suffering. 

And  why  the  changed  demeanor  of  her  husband?  He  had 
never  been  attentive;  she  had  become  used  to  his  carelessness. 
But  now  he  watched  her  every  action,  so  that  the  constant  es- 
pionage began  to  wear  upon  her.  The  neighborhood  into  which 
he  had  brought  her  was  an  unsavory  one  and  she  was  not  per- 
mitted to  leave  it.  She  tried  to.  She  tried  to  steal  out  to  the 
little  church  during  the  early  morning  hours,  hoping  that  she 
might  see  Teddy  once  more — but  her  huaband  found  a  way  to 
frustrate  this  intention.  If  he  was  at  home,  he  followed  her;  if 


THE   ADVERTISEMENT.  173 

not  at  home  when  she  left,  she  was  sure  to  meet  him  ere  she  reached 
the  corner. 

"  If  he  is  so  anxious  to  discover  us,  he  may  happen  along  here 
at  any  time,"  Noble  said  to  her.  "But  you  shall  not  speak  to 
him.  You  are  my  wife,  and  I  will  not  have  you  hold  communi- 
cation with  him." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Lucile.  "  Would  there  be  any  harm  in  hearing 
news  from  home?  What  could  Teddy  have  to  tell  me  that  you 
would  not  want  me  to  hear  ?  " 

"  Paul,"  she  said,  pleadingly,  as  the  week  wore  on,  "  I  have 
asked  you  nothing  for  myself  this  last  two  years.  Take  me  to 
where  Ted  is  and  let  me  talk  to  him — let  me  hear  from  his  own  lips 
how  all  my  dear  ones  are.  Let  me  see  Peggy — he  is  surely  married 
to  Peggy.  I  love  Peggy  and  in  her  heart  she  loves  me,  too. 
Take  me,  Paul — come  with  me.  I  don't  want  you  to  feel  as  if  you 
are  not  one  of  us.  I  shall  employ  every  subterfuge  possible  to 
conceal — to  conceal  what  you  do,  if — if  you  will  take  me." 

Noble  laughed.  And  she  knew,  then,  that  he  would  not  grant 
her  prayer,  and  her  heart  sank  within  her. 

"  How  do  you  think  Teddy  found  me  ?  "  he  said.  And  then, 
when  he  saw  her  change  of  expression,  he  knew  he  had  betrayed 
himself. 

"Found  you?"  said  Lucile,  with  whitening  face.  "Found 
you!  I  thought  you  said — you  said  you  met  him  accidentally — in 
a  gambling-house.  Paul !  Teddy  is  here  looking  for  us — for 
me !  "  She  threw  herself  on  her  knees  before  him.  "  Paul,  if 


174  THE    ADVERTISEMENT. 

there  is  one  feeling  of  manhood,  of  honor,  left  in  your  heart,  take 
me  to  him.  My  father  must  be  ill — perhaps  dying.  Paul,  see, 
I  heg  of  you/' 

"  Manhood !  Honor !  "  he  repeated,  scornfully.  "  What 
little  manhood  or  honor  was  left  me  you  have  effectually 
quenched." 

She  shrank  back,  looking  up  at  him  with  startled  face. 

"I?"  she  faltered. 

"  You.  You  could  have  done  what  you  pleased  with  me — 
but  you  made  me  feel  always  as  if  you  were  mountain-high  above 
me.  You  made  me  feel  your  superiority.  Your  pride  and  your 
scorn  sickened  me.  Had  you  been  gentle  as  another  woman 
would  be — " 

"  And  you  reproach  me ! "  she  said.  She  rose  to  her  feet, 
then,  and  her  face  hardened.  "  You  reproach  me! " 

"  No,"  said  Noble,  "  I  do  not.  I  am  simply  telling  you  that 
had  you  been  different  you  could  have  made  a  different  man  of 
me.  That  you  have  yourself  to  thank  if  you  are  not  satisfied." 

She  laughed.  It  was  the  echo  of  his  own  laugh  a  moment 
since.  The  old  passionate  temper  flared  within  her. 

"  Had  I  been  a  different  woman  you  would  have  treated  me 
as  such  men  as  you  treat  different  women,"  she  said.  She  went 
close  to  him.  "  I  have  never  been  afraid  of  you,  although  I  know 
you  for  a  drunkard  and  a  bully.  I  did  everything  I  could  to 
help  you  lead  a  better  life  until  the  night  my  baby  died.  After 
that  you  were  no  longer  the  father  of  my  child — you  were  a  crea- 


THE    ADVERTISEMENT.  175 

ture  whom  I  was  bound  to — whom  I  had  taken  to  myself,  and 
whom  I  must  put  up  with.  When  you  wish  to  get  rid  of  me,  I 
am  ready  to  go.  So  you  reproach  me  with  your  mode  of  living ! 
You  reproach  me.  You  do  well." 

She  turned  from  him  and  went  to  the  window.  With  a  cruel 
smile  on  his  lips  he  looked  at  her. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  get  rid  of  you,"  he  said.  "  If  you  are 
waiting  for  me  to  release  you,  possess  your  soul  in  patience. 
You  will  live,  I  hope,  a  good  many  years  to  enjoy  the  pleasure  of 
my  society." 

"  I  have  one  consolation,"  said  Lucile,  meeting  cruelty  with 
coldness.  "  You  informed  me  once  that  there  were  no  long-lived 
people  in  your  family.  At  least  there  is  that  much  to  be  grate- 
ful for." 

The  shot  struck  home;  his  face  changed  quickly,  for  like  all 
of  his  ilk — who  have  no  hope  beyond  the  pleasures  of  this  poor 
world — he  was  afraid  of  death.  A  sudden  hot  flame  leaped  into 
his  eyes,  and  he  started  forward  with  clenched  fists.  Lucile 
turned  her  head,  and  her  contemptuous  gaze  met  his.  She  was 
utterly  fearless  and  he  knew  that  if  he  beat  her  to  the  ground  those 
eyes  would  still  stare  up  at  him  with  that  great  scorn  in  their 
depths.  His  hands  fell. 

"  I  shall  live  longer  than  you  think,"  he  snarled.  "  Three 
times  the  years  you've  set  for  me — I  may  outlive  yourself." 

She  smiled. 

"  I  pray  to  God  you  may,"  she  said.     "  That  is  one  thing  can 


176  THE    ADVERTISEMENT. 

not  come  any  too  quickly  for  me — it  would  be  the  most  welcome 
guest.  I  wish  to  see  Teddy  Saunders,  to  hear  from  home — but 
if  I  thought  I  could  meet  death  first — "  she  shrugged  her  shoul- 
ders. "  You  do  not  understand.  It  is  just  as  well/* 

She  turned  back  again  to  the  window,  staring  out  into  the 
gathering  darkness.  He  seized  his  hat  and  without  any  further 
word  banged  the  door  behind  him  and  went  down  the  stairs. 

Left  alone,  Lucile  did  not  stir  for  a  long  time — until  her 
limbs  became  tired.  Then  she  seated  herself  wearily  on  the  side 
of  the  bed.  She  was  asking  herself  how  long  she  could  endure 
this  misery.  Her  heart  was  aching — not  dully  now,  but  with 
a  new,  keen  pain.  She  felt  as  if  the  death  she  longed  for  must 
release  her  if  that  pain  continued. 

A  shuffling  step  came  along  the  hall,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
some  one  knocked  at  the  door.     Lucile  glanced  toward  it  wearily. 
"  Come  in,"  she  said.    "  Oh,  it  is  you,  Mrs.  Miggs  ?  " 
"  I  thought  you'd  be  all  alone,"  she  said,  in  her  husky  voice, 
"  when  I  saw  Noble  going  out  like  that.     It's  a  shame  for  him  to 
be  leaving  a  pretty  young  creature  like  you  without  any  one  to  talk 
to.     It  won't  be  so  bad  when  the  next  room  is  empty — it  will  be 
more  home-like  there.     There's  pictures  on  the  wall  and  curtains 
and  a  fine  ingrain  carpet — " 
Lucile  shuddered. 

"  It  will  be  nice,"  she  said,  "  much  nicer,  I'm  sure." 
"  You're  very  pale — you're  not  feeling  well  ?  " 
"  A  woman's  complaint,  Mrs.  Migjjs — headache." 


THE    ADVERTISEMENT.  177 

"  That's  too  bad — it's  from  worrying.  Don't  worry  over  Paul 
Noble — it  won't  do  you  a  bit  of  good." 

"  I  gave  up  worrying  long  ago,  Mrs.  Miggs." 

"  That's  right." 

Lucile  saw  that  she  was  prepared  to  stay,  and  a  desperate  feel- 
ing surged  through  her  as  the  woman  placed  her  capacious  figure 
on  the  one  chair  the  room  contained.  "  You  didn't  run  away 
with  Noble,  now,  did  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  married  to  him  over  two  years,"  said  Lucile, 
evasively. 

"  Well,  now !  He  didn't  say  how  long,  snd  I  thought  it  was 
a  runaway  match  on  account  of  the  advertisements — " 

"  The  advertisements  ?  " 

"  I'll  bet  he  never  told  you  a  word  about  them !  Haven't  you 
been  seeing  the  advertisements  in  all  the  newspapers  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Lucile,  mechanically.  Her  fingers  locked  one 
over  the  other,  as  she  stared  into  the  woman's  face. 

"  I'll  go  fetch  you  a  paper  this  minute,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Miggs. 
"  If  I  can  find  it."  She  hesitated.  "  Would  you  like  a  cup  of 
tea — a  good,  hot,  strong  cup  of  tea  ?  " 

"  If  you  had  it — "  began  Lucile,  eagerly.  "  I  would  be  glad 
to  pay  you — " 

"  Tut !  "  said  Mrs.  Miggs.  "  I'm  not  that  bad — no,  indeed. 
You  can  have  the  tea  and  welcome.  The  kettle  is  boiling  and 
I'll  get  it  in  a  jiffy.  Meanwhile  I'll  look  for  the  paper — " 

Lucile  lay  very  quietly  on  the  bed  until  the  woman  returned 


178  THE   ADVERTISEMENT. 

with  the  tea  in  one  hand  and  a  crumpled  newspaper  in  the  other. 
Wisely,  Mrs.  Miggs  would  not  surrender  the  latter  until  the  young 
woman  had  taken  the  stimulant.  In  spite  of  the  heat  it  made 
her  feel  better.  She  sat  up,  then,  and  went  through  the  long  list 
of  personals.  She  read  the  one  asking  for  the  whereabouts  of 
Paul  Noble  and  his  wife  with  quickening  pulses — address  or  call 
on  T.  S.,  Hotel  Fulton.  Teddy  at  last !  She  started  to  her  feet 
with  gleaming  eyes. 

"  Mrs.  Miggs,  I  am  going  to  find  out  what  this  means,"  she 
said.  "  Thank  you  a  thousand  times  for  showing  it  to  me.  It 
is  some  one  from  home — some  one  I  am  anxious  to  see.  I  won't 
be  gone  very  long.  If — my  husband  returns — " 

"  I'll  say  nothing/'  said  Mrs.  Miggs.  "  He  warned  me  not  to 
let  you  look  at  a  newspaper,  nor  to  show  you  one — " 

"  Perhaps  he  was  afraid  it  would  upset  me/'  said  Lucile,  still 
with  an  instinctive  wish  to  shield  her  trouble  from  outside  knowl- 
edge. "  But  I  must  go — I  must  see  this — this  person.  I  shall 
not  stay — and  if  Paul  comes  back,"  she  drew  her  breath  sharply 
through  her  set  teeth,  "  let  him  come.  I  will  not  care — if  only  I 
can  succeed." 

A  gleam  of  sympathy  showed  in  the  woman's  eyes  a  moment. 

"  Whoever  it  may  be,  I  hope  they  don't  let  you  back  again," 
she  said,  as  she  followed  Lucile  out  in  the  hall.  "  You're  too  good 
for  Noble — you're  not  the  sort  of  a  wife  he  should  have.  He 
wants  some  one  like  himself.  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about. 
I  came  down  in  the  world  when  I  married  Miggs  and  thought  I 


THE    ADVERTISEMENT.  179 

rould  reform  him.  It's  a  true  saying  that  a  woman  can  live  up 
to  a  man  if  he's  better  brought  up  than  she,  but  a  man  can  never 
live  up  to  the  woman." 

With  these  words  ringing  in  her  ears  Lucile  went  out  into 
the  night.  A  feverish  fear  possessed  her  that  Paul  might  be  near 
at  hand  to  intercept  her  as  usual.  She  was  afraid  that  now  she 
could  not  accomplish  the  desire  of  her  heart.  Ted  Saunders! 
And  Peggy !  Just  to  clasp  Peggy  in  her  arms  and  kiss  her — oh, 
it  would  be  so  sweet !  And  to  hear  from  home — from  her  father ! 
She  had  not  realized  how  cruel  her  husband  was  until  the  joy  of 
at  last  being  able  to  see  these  two  filled  her  whole  being.  Every 
step  that  drew  her  nearer  to  her  destination  seemed  to  be  severing 
her  more  and  more  from  Paul.  She  was  weak  and  sick  when 
finally  she  halted  outside  the  well-lighted  portals  of  the  great 
building.  She  looked  up  at  it,  her  heart  beating  to  suffocation. 
Somewhere  within  it  were  Teddy  and  her  cousin,  her  dear  little 
cousin. 

Her  face  was  quite  pale  as  she  entered  the  hall.  She  had  to 
wait  to  recover  the  breath  that  seemed  failing  her.  Her  lips  were 
cold.  But  she  approached  the  clerk  at  last. 

"  There  has  been  a  gentleman  advertising  from  this  hotel 
recently,"  she  began,  a  little  astonished  at  the  calmness  of  her 
tones,  "  asking  the  whereabouts  of  Paul  Noble  and  his  wife.  The 
gentleman's  name  is  Saunders,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam,"  said  the  clerk,  looking  at  her  curiously. 
"  He—" 


180  THE    ADVERTISEMENT. 

"  Will  you  tell  him,  please,  that  Mrs.  Noble  is  here  and  would 
like  to  see  him — " 

"  Mr.  Saunders  left  for  his  home  this  morning." 

Lucile  stared  at  him. 

"  Mr.  Saunders—" 

"  Went  away — went  back  to  Hubbold  this  morning.  There  is 
a  letter  for  Mrs. — " 

But  he  did  not  finish.  The  man's  face  faded  from  Lucile's 
sight — the  room  swirled  about  her.  With  a  little  gasp  she  sank 
to  the  floor,  mercifully  deprived  of  consciousness. 


RELEASE.  181 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

RELEASE. 

WHEN  her  senses  returned  she  was  lying  on  a  couch  in  one 
of  the  private  parlors  of  the  hotel.  A  woman  employee  had  been 
called  to  attend  her.  Lucile  struggled  to  a  sitting  posture  with 
words  of  apology  on  her  lips. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  said.  "  I  very  seldom  give  way  like  this. 
Thank  you  so  much  for  taking  care  of  me."  She  took  up  her 
purse.  It  contained  a  fifty-cent  piece — the  last  penny  she  had  in 
the  world,  but  Lucile,  despite  the  fact  that  money  had,  by  its  ab- 
sence, played  a  conspicuous  part  in  her  life  this  last  two  years, 
would  never  learn  forethought.  She  pressed  it  into  the  woman's 
hand. 

"  There  is  a  letter  for  you — Mr.  Roberts  told  me  to  tell  you 
that  you  shouldn't  go  until  he  had  given  it  to  you — " 

"  May  I  read  it  here  ?     Ask  him  to  bring  it  here,"  said  Lucile. 

The  woman  obeyed  with  alacrity  and  the  clerk  himself  brought 
it — with  the  desire,  perhaps,  to  see  more  of  the  pale  and  pretty 
young  woman  who  had  so  excited  his  curiosity. 

"  When  did  Mr.  Saunders  leave  ?  "  asked  Lucile. 

"  This  morning.     He  had  been  waiting  over  ten  days  for  some 


182  RELEASE. 

news.  He  thought,  then,  that  the  persons  he  desired  to  see  would 
not  come.  He  left  a  letter  in  case  Mrs.  Noble  came;  I  was  t.o 
return  it  after  three  months.  May  I  ask  you,"  he  hesitated. 
"  Mr.  Saunders  instructed  me  to  ask  you  your  father's  name — 
just  as  a  precaution — " 

"David  Tarrant,"  said  Lucile,  holding  out  her  hand  for  the 
letter :  which  the  young  man  gave  to  her  without  any  further  ado, 
and  then  went  away.  Lucile  broke  the  seal.  Some  bank  notes 
fell  into  her  lap  and  she  picked  them  up  in  wonder.  But  her  eyes 
were  fastened  eagerly  on  the  written  words. 

"  DEAR  LUCILE  : 

"I  have  been  looking  for  you  since  June.  I  went  to  Bing- 
hamton — from  Binghamton  to  Denver ;  back  from  Denver  to  New 
Haven;  from  New  Haven  to  New  York  City.  I  have  been  here 
since  the  middle  of  August  and  shall  leave  to-day,  the  twelfth  of 
September.  I  met  Paul  Noble.  He  would  not  allow  me  to  see 
you.  I  do  not  think  you  will  ever  know  I  came  to  look  for  you, 
unless  you  find  it  out  by  chance. 

"  Dear  Lucile,  I  am  inclosing  one  hundred  dollars,  so  that  if 
you  see  this  letter,  and  you  need  money,  it  will  at  least  pay  your 
expenses  out  to  Hubbold,  in  case  you  are  able  to  come.  Leila  and 
Charlie  are  well  and  have  a  little  daughter,  Margaret.  Peggy  is 
well  and  has  promised  to  marry  me.  Your  father  is  longing  to 
see  you,  as  are  we  all  in  fact. 

"  I  feel  that  it  is  useless  to  write  any  more.     You  will  under' 


RELEASE.  183 

stand  everything  I  want  to  write.  Lucile,  those  at  home  are  pray- 
ing that  you  will  come  back  soon.  Come  back,  Lucile,  if  only 
for  a  single  day. 

"  Your  friend, 

TEDDY." 

Blunt  and  honest  and  brief  as  the  young  man  himself  were 
the  words  he  wrote,  but  Lucile  read  between  the  lines ;  she  knew  all 
that  he  would  have  said  had  he  been  able  to,  or  had  he  not  feared 
that  other  eyes  might  rest  on  this  letter.  Very  carefully  she 
folded  the  bills  and  placed  them  in  the  bosom  of  her  dress.  Then 
she  tore  the  letter  into  tiny  bits,  holding  them  in  her  hand,  feeling, 
as  she  walked  out,  that  she  could  not  bear  to  part  with  them. 

Yes ;  she  would  save  the  money  to  go  back  to  Hubbold,  when  the 
time  came.  But  would  it  come,  ever  ?  Her  brows  contracted  with 
pain.  Would  it  come,  would  she  ever  feel  herself  free,  would  she 
ever  be  able  to  turn  her  face  toward  that  haven  of  peace  and 
comfort  ? 

She  was  nearing  the  little  church  which  Teddy  had  entered 
that  morning  and  the  thought  that  he  had  been  in  it  seemed  to 
draw  her  inside.  Nor  did  she  dream  of  resisting  the  impulse. 
She  knelt  in  one  of  the  rear  pews,  her  eyes  fastened  on  the  altar, 
her  hands  clasped  in  prayer. 

"I  think  if  I  had  seen  him  then,  or  talked  to  him,  T  would 
not  have  been  able  to  resist  going  with  him/*  she  thought.  "  God 
kept  me  back — God  doesn't  mean  me  to  leave  yet.  .  .  .  Dear 


184  RELEASE. 

father,  dear  father !  May  the  same  God  who  is  looking  down  on 
me  protect  and  care  for  you  and  not  let  you  grieve  for  a  daughter 
who  is  not  worthy  of  your  tenderness." 

She  was  conscious  of  a  great  weariness — a  bodily  weakness,  a 
feeling  of  lassitude  that  had  never  before  assailed  her.  A  half- 
smile  parted  her  lips. 

"  It  would  break  his  heart  if  I  were  to  die  without  him  seeing 
me  again/'  went  on  her  thoughts.  "  I  mustn't  die  yet.  .  .  . 
Would  Paul  be  sorry?  .  .  .  what  was  it  he  said — that  had 
I  been  different — " 

A  shudder  went  over  her. 

"  A  man  never  can  live  up  to  a  woman !  Is  that  true  ?  That 
woman  said  so — that  woman !  And  I  must  go  back  to  that  hovel. 
Oh,  Paul,  Paul,  Paul,  I  have  not  deserved  any  of  this  from  you 
— none  of  it.  Pride  and  coldness  are  my  only  safeguards.  Where 
would  gentleness  have  led  me?  Still  further  down — you  would 
have  had  no  respect  for  a  meek  woman.  You  have  little  enough 
for  me  as  it  is — but  for  a  woman  upon  whom  you  could  trample — " 

She  sat  up  straight,  a  shudder  going  over  her. 
"  I  can't  be  different,"  she  said,  half  aloud.     Her  eyes  were 
fastened  on  the  altar.     "  I  can't  be  different.     He  is  my  husband, 
yes— but  I—" 

She  could  not  finish  the  sentence.  After  a  little  she  took  up 
the  thread  of  her  thoughts  again. 

"  I  will  not  say  I  hate  him — not  here.  I  have  no  right  to  say 
that  I  hate  him.  I  would  not  want  my  father  to  say  he  hated  me." 


RELEASE.  186 

Again  she  paused.  She  was  fighting  a  battle  with  herself. 
She  did  not  know  it,  but  this  time  it  was  no  longer  the  battle  of 
stoicism,  the  battle  of  endurance.  Bather  a  battle  with  gentler 
impulses  to  which  she  had  long  been  a  stranger;  an  inclination 
toward  mercy  and  pity. 

"  I  can't  be  different,"  she  said  again,  between  her  shut  teeth. 
She  knew  then  that  she  would  yield.  It  did  not  last  much  longer. 
Gradually  a  softer  expression  stole  into  her  face  and  the  hard 
light  died  out  of  her  eyes. 

"  I  will  be  different,"  she  whispered,  "  I  will.  From  this 
moment  on  I  will  be  different.  If  kind  words  can  help  to  reclaim 
him,  he  shall  have  them.  God  help  me  to  be  gentle  where  I  have 
been  cold;  tender  where  I  have  been  proud.  God  help  me." 

She  rose  to  her  feet  then  and  went  out  into  the  night.  She 
felt  happier.  She  had  not  known  what  fearful  restraint  she  had 
placed  upon  herself  until  now,  when  the  restraint  was  lessened, 
when  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  try  to  touch  his  heart  once 
more.  She  felt  no  reluctance  as  she  sped  onward,  she  was  not 
afraid  as  she  turned  down  the  street  where  slatternly  women 
gazed  at  her  curiously  from  open  doors,  and  untidy  children  barred 
her  path  at  every  step.  She  reached  the  place  that  was  her  home. 
She  would  ask  Paul  to  take  her  away  to-morrow.  He  was  trying 
her ;  well,  she  would  lean  down  to  him :  give  him  more  of  her  con- 
fidence. .  .  . 

She  ran  lightly  up  the  stairs;  entered  the  room.  Her  hus- 
band was  seated  at  the  window.  She  had  never  seen  the  expres- 


186  RELEASE. 

si  on  on  his  face  that  it  wore  now.  A  feeling  of  expectation  went 
over  her:  she  was  prepared  for  anything. 

"  I  have  been  waiting  for  you,"  he  said. 

At  his  tone  Lucile  felt  the  old  stiffness  creeping  into  her 
manner,  but  she  resolutely  put  it  away. 

"  I  did  not  expect  you  back  so  soon,"  she  said.  "  You  do  not 
usually  return  as  early  as  this." 

He  mistook  the  tremor  in  her  voice  for  fear.  Something  like 
a  brutal  satisfaction  filled  him. 

"  I  followed  you,"  he  said,  "  to  the  hotel.  I  watched  you  come 
out  after  your  interview  with  Saunders.  You  compared  notes,  I 
suppose.  You  found  out  that  I  lied  to  you  when  I  told  you  he 
was  here  on  his  wedding-trip.  You  know  now  that  he  wants  you 
to  go  home  with  him.  Well,  it  doesn't  matter — I  see  I'm  as  big 
a  fool  as  you  are  to  try  to  keep  you.  I  saw  you  go  into  the  church 
— and  then  came  back  to  this  delightful  home  of  ours  to  have  a 
last  word  with  you." 

"  A  last  word  ?  "  echoed  Lucile. 

"  Yes,"  said  Paul  Noble.  "  I'm  tired  of  you.  I  want  you  to 
go  away — I  want  you  to  get  out ;  I  don't  want  ever  to  see  you  again. 
You  sicken  me  with  your  sanctimonious  face,  and  now  that  re- 
ligion seems  to  have  taken  possession  of  you,  I  want  no  more  of 
you.  You  hear  me  ?  I — want — no — more — of — you." 

"  I  hear,"  said  Lucile.  Her  lips  were  white.  "  Paul,"  she 
paid,  coming  nearer  to  him,  "  Paul,  listen  to  me.  You  said  to- 
day that  had  I  been  different  you  would  have  been  a  better  man. 


RELEASE.  187 

Paul,  is  it  too  late,  now  ?  If  I  try  to  be  kind  and  more  loving  as 
— in  the  old  days,  would  it  make  you  different  ?  For  I  have  made 
up  my  mind  to  try.  Let  us  both  start  together  this  night,  you  and 
I.  Take  me  away  from  here — you  know  you  only  took  me  here  to 
try  me — out  of  a  little  spite,  perhaps.  Let  us  go  to  more  respect- 
able quarters.  I  don't  want  you  to  break  off  everything  at  once 
— give  me  one  night  a  week  of  your  society  in  the  beginning,  and 
it  will  satisfy  me.  See,  Paul — it  is  the  old  Lucile  now — I'll  try 
to  care  for  you  again  in  the  old  way,  and  perhaps,  after  a  time, 
it  all  may  come  back — " 

Her  voice  broke.  The  man  stood  with  lowering  brow  and  eyes 
bent  on  the  ground.  His  good  angel  fought  a  hard  battle  for  him 
that  night.  But  in  Lucile's  new  phase  of  feeling  he  saw  danger 
to  his  cherished  line  of  conduct.  The  full  heinousness  of  it  came 
upon  him  as  he  saw  the  two  paths :  the  one  of  righteousness  and 
that  of  wrong-doing.  Deliberately  he  chose  the  latter. 

"  You  can  do  as  you  please,"  he  said.  "  Go  where  you  please. 
I  have  long  been  thinking  of  telling  you  this — and  now  that  the 
chance  offers  itself  I  mean  to  take  it.  Dolling  has  asked  me  to 
join  him  in  a  place  he's  going  to  open  in  'Frisco — it's  getting  too 
hot  here  to  hold  him.  I'm  going." 

"And  I?" 

"  You  are  not.  Your  wifely  responsibility  ends  to-night — 
unless  I  go  broke.  If  so,"  he  laughed,  "  I'll  call  on  father — " 

"  Don't,"  said  Lucile.  Her  breath  was  coming  fast.  "  Don't, 
Paul.  If  it's  really  over  now,  don't  make  my  thoughts  any 


188  RELEASE. 

bitterer.  You'll  do  just  what  you  say :  you  are  not  injuring  me 
— but  when  you  stand  before  God,  do  not  lay  the  blame  of  your 
wasted  life  upon  your  wife's  shoulders.  That  is  all.  I  forgive 
you  every  pang  you  have  cost  me,  every  bit  of  sorrow,  remember 
that.  But  when  we  part,  we  part.  I  hope  that  I  never  see  your 
face  again — and  if  I  should — well,  it  will  be  as  if  it  were  the 
face  of  a  stranger —  But,  no !  Paul,  just  once  more.  I  did  love 
you — I  did,  in  the  old  days.  Don't  you  believe  you  have  a  soul, 
and  that  God  will  hold  you  responsible — " 

"  Tut ! "  he  said ;  "  Spare  me  that."  Ee  paused  on  the 
threshold.  "If  you  care  to,  you  can  go  back  to  your  Teddy  Saun- 
ders,  and  tell  him  the  man  he'd  like  to  kick  from  here  to  Denver — " 

"Paul,  I  beg  of  you — I  will  not  listen.  Just  a  moment — 
just  wait — " 

He  opened  the  door  and  shut  it  behind  him.  His  footsteps 
echoed  along  the  hall.  Lucile  stood  listening,  her  hands  clasped 
across  her  bosom.  Her  eyes  were  wide  with  fear — with  doubt. 
It  was  true,  then.  He  had  indeed  cast  her  off.  There  was  nothing 
left  for  her  to  do  but  to  accept  the  inevitable.  Her  duty  was 
ended — he  would  have  no  more  of  her. 

The  suddenness  of  this  sense  of  release  was  too  much  for  her 
tried  spirit.  She  sank  on  her  knees,  and  the  tears  that  had  not 
touched  her  eyes  in  many  days  forced  their  way  to  the  surface  now, 
trickling  in  slow,  heavy  drops  through  her  fingers. 

Nothing,  nothing  stood  in  her  way.  She  could  return.  And 
she  would  return.  Back  to  Hubbold,  back  to  her  father,  back  to 


RELEASE.  189 

love  and  tenderness  and  peace — once  more  to  know  the  shelter  of 
her  own  home ;  once  more  to  feel  the  pressure  of  loving  arms  and 
loving  lips —  Back  to  her  mother,  to  Peggy,  to  Leila —  Oh, 
how  she  would  love  them  to  make  up  for  the  years  that  she  had 
been  indifferent.  How  she  would  love  them  all! 

For  the  first  time  in  many  months  Lucile  Noble  went  to  bed 
that  night  to  sleep. 


190  THE   END* 


CHAPTEE  XX. 

THE  END. 

SHE  waited  all  the  next  day,  determined  to  give  her  husband 
every  chance  to  change  his  mind.  She  left  the  house  at  nightfall- 
Mrs.  Miggs  had  been  good  enough  to  get  her  some  food — and  went 
back  to  the  church  where  she  had  found  such  consolation  the  pre- 
vious evening. 

She  had  fully  resolved  to  go  home. 

Surely  she  had  endured  enough.  Surely  she  had  paid  for  her 
mistake.  She  had  suffered  the  penalty  for  two  years:  and,  now, 
deserted  by  her  husband,  cast  off,  there  was  nothing  to  bar  her 
return  to  her  father's  house.  She  tried  to  look  at  it  calmly,  but 
the  joy  that  filled  her  every  vein  would  not  be  quenched.  She 
felt  that  it  would  be  wrong  to  entertain  this  joy,  and  yet  she  was 
almost  happy. 

"  Peggy  must  trust  God  as  I  trust  my  father,"  she  said.  "  She 
must  have  that  much  belief  in  Him.  Dear  Peggy,  how  glorious 
it  will  be  to  see  her  face  again !  I  hope  she  has  not  changed — I 
want  to  hear  her  laugh.  I  want  her  to  make  those  funny, 
quaintly-wise  remarks — I  want  to  feel  my  father's  arms  about  me 


THE   END.  191 

— I  will  love  him — yes,  I  will  pay  him  in  full  lor  all  that  he  has 
suffered." 

Still  with  that  joy  in  her  heart  she  went  back  again. 

"  To-morrow  morning/'  she  said,  to   Mrs.   Miggs,  "  I   am 
going  home." 

"And  what  about  Noble?" 

"  He  is  not  coming  back  here/'  said  Lucile. 

"You  mean  that  he's  left  you?" 

For  a  moment  Lucile  struggled  with  the  wish  to  conceal  this 
painful  truth. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  finally.     "  He  has  gone  to  San  Francisco." 

Mrs.  Miggs  planted  her  stout  hands  on  her  capacious  hips. 

"  Could  you  look  me  in  the  eye  and  say  you're  sorry,  ma'am  ?  " 

Lucile  gazed  at  her,  startled. 

"  You  wouldn't  be  human  to  be  sorry,"  she  said,  "  so  don't 
pretend  it  to  me.  I  don't  know  anything  about  you  nor  where 
you  come  from  nor  what  you're  going  back  to,  but  it's  the  wisest 
move  you  ever  made.  You  could  spend  your  life  for  some  men 
and  they  wouldn't  thank  you  at  the  end  of  it.  Noble's  one  of 
that  kind." 

"  They  are  not  all  so,"  said  Lucile,  softly.  "  I  have  a  father 
and  a  cousin — the  two  best  men  I  ever  knew — oh,  there  are  many 
good  men  in  the  world,  Mrs.  Miggs." 

"  It  would  be  a  poor  world,  if  there  weren't,"  said  Mrs.  Miggs. 
"  But  seems  to  me  it's  the  contrast  makes  them  good." 

Lucile  shook  her  head. 


193  THE    END. 

"  I'm  afraid  you're  a  man-hater,"  she  said.  "  Paul  Noble  might 
be  more  thoughtful  than  he  is,  but  because  we  were  not  happy 
does  not  argue  that  all  other  men  are  like  him." 

"  After  a  time  you'll  find  some  one  else — " 

Lucile  smiled. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  there  never  will  be  any  one  else." 

"I'd  get  a  divorce  from  him  on  the  principle  of  the  thing. 
You  can." 

"  I  can  not." 

"  It  isn't  that  you're  a  Catholic  ?  " 

Lucile  paused  in  the  folding  of  the  few  garments  she  meant 
to  take  away  with  her.  There  was  a  peculiar  light  in  her  eyes. 

"I'm  not  a  Catholic  yet,"  she  said,  "but  I  mean  to  be  one 
just  as  soon  as  I  go  home,  if  I'm  good  enough." 

She  had  not  thought  of  this  before,  but  now  she  knew  that 
she  had  resolved  on  it — that  it  had  been  in  her  mind  a  long  while. 
And  the  declaration  made  her  joyous.  She  looked  at  the  woman 
with  a  face  into  which  new  happiness  had  grown. 

"  Yes ;  I  will  be  a  Catholic,"  she  said. 


It  chanced  that  after  leaving  the  Hotel  Fulton  Teddy  stopped 
over  in  Philadelphia  a  day  and  a  half  to  attend  to  some  business 
connected  with  the  Mills,  about  which  Charlie  had  written  him. 
This  satisfactorily  concluded,  he  went  home.  The  morning  that 
saw  him  alight  at  the  familiar  Hubbold  station  was  to  him  a 


THE    END.  193 

morning  of  miserable  anticipation.  He  felt  that  another  man 
would  not  have  returned  defeated;  he  felt  that  he  had  acted 
tardily  in  not  following  Noble  or  having  him  followed,  and  so  dis- 
cover Lucile.  But  the  desire  to  keep  family  affairs  to  himself 
had  overcome  all  others.  It  hardly  seemed  possible  that  Lucile 
could  have  failed  to  see  one  of  the  many  advertisements  which  he 
had  caused  to  be  inserted  in  the  newspapers,  and  there  was  little 
doubt  that  Noble  would  tell  her  something  of  Teddy's  visit  to  the 
city.  He  knew  'Lucile  of  old — knew  her  independent  spirit  well, 
and  it  did  not  seem  possible  that  a  man  like  Paul  Noble  could 
have  everything  his  own  way  with  a  woman  like  Lucile  for  a  wife. 
Teddy  Saunders,  with  his  home-loving  disposition,  his  honest, 
blunt  manner,  and  his  somewhat  countrified  tastes,  had  no  idea 
of  the  nature  of  such  men  as  Paul  Noble.  In  fact,  all  Teddy's 
ideas  of  the  world  outside  Hubbold  he  had  derived  from  books. 
He  was  simple,  manly,  a  gentleman — and  to  him  there  were  some 
things  which  no  man  could  do — not  even  such  a  man  as  Paul 
Noble  was  reputed  to  be. 

So  his  failure  to  see  Lucile  he  attributed  partly  to  her  own 
wish  in  the  matter.  But  what  would  Peggy  say?  How  would 
she  take  the  news  of  his  failure?  How  could  he  go  to  her  and  tell 
her  that  he  had  met  Lucile's  husband  and,  because  that  husband 
would  not  permit  it,  he  had  let  Lucile  slip  out  of  his  grasp? 

He  knew  that  if  he  went  through  the  town  now  the  news  that 
he  had  returned  would  reach  Hubbold  Hall  before  he  did.  He 
turned  off  the  road  leading  into  the  main  street,  and  took  the  path 


194  THE   END. 

that  led  to  the  Dulcimer  cottage.  It  had  been  kept,  since  his 
grandmother's  death,  by  an  old  couple  who  were  devoted  to  Teddy, 
and  whom  he  knew  he  could  trust  in  this  emergency. 

After  the  first  greetings  were  over,  Teddy  turned  to  the  old 
man. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  tell  any  one  that  I  have  come  back,"  he 
said.  "  I  must  see  Charlie  Stanton — you  must  go  to  the  Mills 
with  this  note  for  me.  Hitch  up  the  horse  and  bring  him  back 
with  you,  if  he  is  not  too  busy." 

"  He  won't  be  too  busy,  that's  sure,"  thought  Teddy,  some- 
what impatiently,  as  he  stood  at  the  window  of  the  small  parlor. 
"  And  I  know  he'll  be  delighted  at  my  success." 

He  twisted  his  upper  lip  between  his  finger  and  thumb  in  a 
perturbed  fashion. 

"  There  was  nothing  else  I  could  do,"  he  said  aloud,  "  noth- 
ing else." 

When  Charlie  came  into  the  room  Teddy  was  in  the  same 
position  at  the  window.  Charlie  had  both  hands  extended,  a 
cordial  smile  on  his  face. 

"  Welcome  home,"  he  said,  "  welcome  home,  Ted.  What 
news  ?  " 

«  Nothing." 

"  Nothing  ?  "  A  shadow  fell  across  the  young  man's  fore- 
head. "Nothing  at  all?" 

"  I  found  them — in  New  York  City.  But  I  did  not  see 
Lucile." 


THE    END.  195 

"  Her  husband  ?  How  about  her  husband  ?  Did  you  find  out 
anything  about  his  life,  his — 

"  Yes ;  I  met  him.  He  would  not  permit  me  to  see  her." 
Teddy  turned  around  quickly.  "  If  you  can  think  of  any  scheme, 
Charlie,  I'm  ready  to  start  back  again.  It's  a  delicate  affair,  and 
only  one  of  her  family  can  attend  to  it.  Pretty  tough  on  me  to 
have  to  come  back  such  a  rank  failure — " 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it,  Ted,"  said  Charlie. 

He  listened  gravely  while  Ted  began  at  the  beginning  and 
briefly  related  just  what  had  occurred.  Most  of  the  details  he 
had  kept  from  Peggy — the  circumstances  connected  with  the 
death  of  Lucile's  child,  and  Paul  Noble's  true  reputation.  He 
told  all  to  Charlie  now,  and  Charlie  listened  with  grave  brow  and 
set  lips. 

"  The  worst  of  it  is  this,"  he  said,  "  we  have  said  nothing  to 
Uncle  Tarrant,  but  he  seems  to  connect  your  absence  with  Lucile. 
I  don't  know  how  he  got  the  idea,  but  he  has  it.  He  is  almost 
positive  that  when  you  return,  Lucile  will  return  with  you.  Ted, 
I'm  afraid  the  disappointment  will  be  more  than  he  can  bear." 

"  If  you  can  suggest  anything,"  said  Teddy,  eagerly.  "  Or 
if  you  will  give  me  permission —  It  seems  hateful  to  do,  I  know, 
but  I  would  have  Xoble  shadowed,  and  then  go  to  the  house  and 
interview  Lucile  in  his  absence.  I  didn't  want  to  do  that, 
Charlie—" 

"  Well,  I'll  do  it,"  said  Charlie.  "  I'll  go  back  with  you,  Ted, 
and  we'll  do  it  together.  I'll  send  Larry  up  with  a  note  to  Leifa 


196  THE    END. 

and  another  one  to  Wilkes  at  the  Mills,  and  then  we'll  go  on  the 
next  train." 

"  Don't  say  I'm  here  at  all,"  said  Teddy.  "  It's  better  to  tell 
them  nothing." 

"  They  will  surmise  I  have  heard  from  you,"  said  Charlie. 
"  It's  hard  to  leave  the  Mills  just  now,  but  Wilkes  is  trustworthy 
— and  I  don't  want  Uncle  Tarrant  to  face  this  disappointment. 
Sit  down  there  while  I  write  my  letters." 

But  Teddy  could  not  sit  down.  With  restless  feet  he  walked 
up  and  down  the  room,  pausing  occasionally  at  the  window.  It 
was  during  the  last  of  these  pauses  that  he  stood  stock  still,  gazing 
out  along  the  sunlit  road.  He  kept  very  quiet,  his  lips  parted  ex- 
pectantly, his  eyes  straining.  Then,  without  turning,  he  called : 

"  Charlie !     Come  here  one  moment." 

Charlie  looked  up  from  the  note  he  was  finishing. 

"Eight  away,  Ted." 

"  Come  now,"  he  said,  in  tones  of  repressed  excitement. 
"  Come  now." 

Moved  to  curiosity,  Charlie  went  to  the  window  and  stood  be- 
side him. 

"  Am  I  going  crazy  ?  "  asked  Teddy,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Am  I 
mad?  You  look,  and  tell  me  who  that  is  walking  toward  the 
house." 

Charlie  looked.  His  answer  was  a  muttered  exclamation  as 
he  turned  and  ran  from  the  room.  Ted  did  not  need  an  invitation 
to  follow.  In  an  instant  two  hatless  men  had  raced  down  the 


THE   END.  197 

path,  cleared  the  gate,  and  were  running  along  the  road  to  meet 
the  woman  slowly  advancing  in  their  direction. 

It  was  Lucile. 

Almost  before  she  knew  it  Charlie  had  his  arms  about  her, 
and  Ted  had  clasped  her  two  hands  in  his  and  was  shaking  them 
violently.  No  one  spoke  clearly  for  the  next  few  seconds.  There 
was  a  jumble  of  words  without  any  sense  to  them,  but  through 
all  the  jumble  rang  the  great  gladness  and  joy  of  these  honest 
friends. 

"  We  were  going  back  to  New  York  on  the  next  train,"  said 
Charlie.  "  And  now  we  won't  even  ask  you  how  you  got  here. 
The  horse  is  still  hitched  up,  isn't  he,  Ted  ?  We'll  all  pile  in  and 
get  old  Larry  to  drive  us  to  the  Hall  at  once." 

"  My  father  ?  "  questioned  Lucile.  "  Tell  me  one  thing — my 
father  is  well  ?  " 

"  His  health  is  splendid,"  said  Charlie.  "  His  eyes  trouble 
him  considerably,  though,  Lucile." 

"  His  eyes  ?  "     She  looked  at  him,  startled. 

"  Yes.  Try  to  brace  up,  old  girl — you  might  as  well  hear  the 
worst  news  first.  His  sisrht  has  almost  failed  him.  That's  why 
Teddy  went  after  you — to  bring  you  back  before  the  light  went 
out  altogether.  Don't  feel  badly,"  he  said,  reaching  over  and 
patting  her  hand ;  "  it's  the  worst  you'll  have  to  bear,  cousin,  and 
he  can  still  see  you." 

They  drove  to  the  Hall  by  an  unfrequented  path  and  even 
reached  it  without  being  observed.  Peggy  had  had  no  inkling 


108  THE    END. 

of  their  coining,  and  the  scene  that  ensued  between  the  two 
cousins  was  a  touching  one.  But  Lucile's  great  impatience 
struggled  through  it  all. 

"  My  father,  Peggy,"  she  said,  voicing  her  overpowering  desire, 
"  take  me  to  my  father." 

Mr.  Tarrant  was  seated  on  the  southern  porch,  with  Leila  in 
a  low  rocker  beside  him,  and  the  baby  Margaret  on  his  knee.  He 
was  talking  in  a  slow,  hesitating  fasbion  that  struck  Lucile  pain- 
fully. She  remembered  his  clear  voice,  his  decisive  tones.  She 
was  standing  quite  close  inside,  so  that  she  might  see  him  well — 
Peggy  whispered  that  there  was  no  danger  of  his  discovering  her. 

"  Come,  Leila,"  called  Peggy,  from  the  doorway,  at  last. 
"  Isn't  it  time  to  give  Meg  something  to  eat  ?  " 

Leila  looked  up  in  surprise — but  one  glance  at  Peggy's  tear- 
stained  face  and  then  at  the  figure  behind  her  made  her  tremble. 
She  took  the  baby  in  her  arms. 

"  We'll  come  back  in  a  few  minutes  to  grandfather,"  she  said, 
softly.  "  Kiss  him,  baby,  before  you  go." 

The  little  one  obeyed,  and  Leila  stole  away.  The  old  man 
turned  his  head  toward  the  garden  where  the  late  roses  still 
lingered.  There  was  a  wistful  expression  on  his  face.  His  ears, 
grown  keener  because  of  failing  sight,  heard  the  rustle  of  a 
woman's  garments. 

"  Is  it  you,  Peggy?  "  he  asked.  "  I  am  glad  to  have  you  alone 
a  little  while — I  have  not  been  able  to  ask  you  any  questions  in 
over  a  week.  Peggy,  when  did  you  hear  from  Ted  ?  " 


THE   END.  199 

There  was  no  answer.  He  sat  back  in  his  chair,  and  turned 
his  face  toward  the  little  rocker. 

"  You  have  heard  from  him,  Peggy  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  Is  he 
coming — " 

A  sob  interrupted  him.  The  woman  in  the  rocker  threw  her- 
self on  her  knees  before  him. 

"  My  father,  oh,  my  father !  " 

The  old  man  could  not  speak  or  stir.  His  arm  went  about  her 
convulsively  and  held  her.  His  eyes  peered  into  her  upturned, 
tear-wet  face. 

"  Lucile  !     It  is  Lucile !     It  is  my  daughter !     0  God,  I  thank 

Thee!" 

***** 

Some  months  later  Peggy  Stanton  gave  the  parishioners  of  St. 
Francis  de  Sales'  the  sensation  Leila  had  anticipated.  The  day  of 
her  marriage  was  a  thrice-blessed  one  to  her,  for  on  that  day  Lucile 
and  her  father  were  received  into  the  Church.  Afterward  they 
said  that  they  had  begun  to  live  on  Peggy's  wedding-day. 

They  are  very  happy.  To  a  great  extent  Lucile  has  taken 
Peggy's  place  as  the  good  angel  of  the  parish.  She  is  that  to  every 
tried,  unhappy  soul,  and  no  one  is  afraid  to  come  to  her  with 
whatever  tale  of  misery  or  wrong-doing  he  or  she  may  have  to 
tell. 

Of  Paul  Noble  nothing  more  was  heard.  His  fate  was  prob- 
ably that  of  others  of  his  kind,  his  end  the  end  of  one  who  has  set 
the  laws  of  God  and  man  at  defiance,  unless  divine  grace  inter- 


200  THE    END. 

vened.  Perhaps  it  did,  for  Lucile  prayed  daily  for  his  conversion. 
She  was  an  entirely  different  character  to  the  Lueile  Tan-ant  the 
residents  of  Hubbold  had  known.  To  her  father  she  was  light  and 
joy  the  remainder  of  his  days.  He  was  truly  happy.  Mrs.  Tar- 
rant,  also,  found  in  this  new  Lucile  a  loving  and  tender  daughter, 
whose  trials  had  brought  her  further  on  the  road  to  perfection. 

PC  we  leave  them  all — dear  little  Peggy  and  honest  Ted; 
Charlie  and  Leila,  loving  and  beloved ;  Lucile,  her  father  and  her 
mother — all  save  the  latter  united  in  the  one  great  desire  that 
Mrs.  Tarrant,  too,  may  know  the  peace  of  their  faith  before  she 
dies. 


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SHORT  COURSE  IN  CATHOLIC  DOCTRINE.  Paper,  0  10 
SHORT  HISTORY  OF  MORAL  THEOLOGY.  SLATER.  net,  0  50 
SHORT  LIVES  OF  THE  SAINTS.  DONNELLY.  0  75 
SHORT  MEDITATIONS'  FOR  EVERY  DAY.  LASAUSSE.  net,  0  50 
SHORT  STORIES  ON  CHRISTIAN  DOCTRINE.  McMAHON.  net,  1  00 
SHORT  VISITS  TO  THE  BLESSED  SACRAMENT.  LASANCE. 

Cloth,  0  IS 

SOCIALISM  AND  CHRISTIANITY.     STANG.  net,  1  25 

SOCIALISM:    ITS  THEORETICAL  BASIS  AND  PRACTICAL 

APPLICATION.      CATHREIN-GETTELMANN.  net,  1   75 

SODALIST'S  VADE  MECUM.  0  55 

SOLDIERS'   AND    SAILORS'    COMPANION.     McGRATH.      Cut 

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SOUVENIR  OF  THE  NOVITIATE.     TAYLOR.  net,  0  60 

SPECIAL  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  STUDY  OF  THE  OLD 

TESTAMENT.     GIGOT.     Part  I,  net,   1.75.     Part  II,  net,  2  25 

SPIRAGO'S    METHOD    OF   CHRISTIAN   DOCTRINE.     MESS- 

MER.  net,  1  75 

SPIRIT  OF  SACRIFICE,  THE,  AND  THE  LIFE  OF   SACRI- 
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SPIRITUAL  DESPONDENCY  AND  TEMPTATIONS.    MICHEL- 

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STORY  OF  JESUS  SIMPLY  TOLD  FOR  THE  YOUNG.    MUL- 

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STORY  OF  THE  DIVINE  CHILD.  LINGS.  net.  0  40 

STORY  OF  THE  FRIENDS  OF  JESUS'.  RELIGZOUS  H.  C.  J.  net,  0  40 
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H.  C.  J.  net,  0  40 

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CREED.  RELIGIOUS  H.  C.  J.  net,  0  40 

TEXTUAL  CONCORDANCE  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES'. 

WILLIAMS.  net,  3  50 

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TRAINING  OF  CHILDREN  AND  OF  GIRLS  IN  THEIR 

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TRUE  POLITENESS.  DEMORE.  net,  0  75 

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edition,  net,  0.75;  2  volume  edition,  net,  3  00 

TWO  SPIRITUAL  RETREATS  FOR  SISTERS.  ZOLLNES- 

WIRTH.  net,  I  00 

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BRENNAN.  net,  0  50 

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VISITS  TO  JESUS  IN  THE  TABERNACLE.     LASANCE.  1  25 

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LIGUORI.  0  50 

VOCATION.     VAN  TRICHT-CONNIFF.     Paper.  0  07 

VOCATIONS'  EXPLAINED.     Cut  flush,  0  10 

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WAY  OF  SALVATION  AND  OF  PERFECTION.  ST.  ALPHONSUS 

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WAY  OF  THE  CROSS.  Illustrated.  Paper,  0  05 

WAY  OF  THE  CROSS,  THE.  Large-type  edition.  Method  of 

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WAY  OF  THE  CROS'S.  Illustrated.  Eucharistic  method.  0  15 

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WAY  OF  THE  CROSS.  ST.  FRANCIS  OF  ASSISI.  Illustrated.  0  15 

WAY  OF  THE  CROSS.  Illustrated.  ST.  ALPHONSUS  LIGUORI.  0  15 

WHAT  CATHOLICS'  HAVE  DONE  FOR  SCIENCE.  BRENNAN.  net,  I  25 
WHAT  THE  CHURCH  TEACHES.  DRURY.  Paper,  0.30;  Cloth,  0  60 
WHAT  TIMES!  WHAT  MORALS!  SEMPLE,  S.J.  Paper,  0.20; 

Cloth,  0  50 

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NOVELS 
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BLACK  BROTHERHOOD,  THE.     GARROLD,  S'.J.  net,  1  35 

BOND  AND  FREE.     CONNOR.  net,  0  50 

"BUT  THY  LOVE  AND  THY  GRACE."     FINN,  SJ.  1  00 

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CARROLL  DARE.     WAGGAMAN.  net,  I  00 

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FATAL  BEACON,  THE.     BRACKM.  net,  1  00 

FAUSTULA.    AYSCOUGH.  *et,  1  35 

Jo 


FINE  CLAY.     CLARKE. 

FLOWERS  OF  THE  CLOISTER.     LA  MOTTE. 

FORGIVE  AND  FORGET.     LINGEN. 

FRIENDLY  LITTLE  HOUSE,  THE,  AND  OTHER  STORIES. 

FURS  AND  FUR  HUNTERS. 

GRAPES  OF  THORNS.    WAGGAMAN. 

HANDLING  MAIL  FOR  MILLIONS. 

HEART  OF  A  MIAN,  THE.     MAKER. 

HEARTS  OF  GOLD       EDHOR. 

HEIRESS  OF  CRONENSTEIN.     HAHN-HAHK. 

HER  BLIND  FOLLY.     HOLT. 

HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER.     HINKSON. 

HER  FATHER'S  SHARE.     POWER. 

HER  JOURNEY'S  END.     COOKE. 

IDOLS;    OR   THE    SECRET    OF    THE    RUE   CHAUSS'EE 

D'ANTIN.     NAVERY. 
IN  GOD'S  GOOD  TIME.     Ross. 
IN  THE  DAYS  OF  KING  HAL.     TAGGART. 
IN  SPITE  OF  ALL.     STANIFORTH. 
IVY  HEDGE,  THE.     EGAN. 

KIND  HEARTS  AND  CORONETS'.     HARRISON. 

LADY  OF  THE  TOWER,   THE,  AND   OTHER   STORIES. 

LIFE  UNDERGROUND. 

LIGHT  OF  HIS  COUNTENANCE.     HARTK. 

"LIKE  UNTO  A  MERCHANT."     GRAY. 

LINKED  LIVES.     DOUGLAS. 

LITTLE  CARDINAL,  THE.     PARR. 

MARCELLA  GRACE.     MULHOLLAND. 

MARIAE  COROLLA.     (Poems.)     HILL,  C.P. 

MARIE  OF  THE   HOUSE   D'ANTERS.      EAKLJ,  S.J. 

MELCHIOR  OF  BOSTON.     EARLS,  SJ. 

MIGHTY  FRIEND,  THE.     L'ERMITE. 

MIRROR  OF  SHALOTT.     BENSON. 

MISS  ERIN.     FRANCIS. 

MONK'S  PARDON,  THE.     NAVERY. 

MR.  BILLY  BUTTONS.     LECKY. 

MY  LADY  BEATRICE.     COOKE. 

NOT  A  JUDGMENT.     KEON. 

ON  PATROL  WITH  A  BOUNDARY  RIDER. 

ONLY  ANNE.     CLARKE. 

OTHER  MISS  LISLE,  THE.     MARTIN. 

OUT  OF  BONDAGE.     HOLT. 

OUTLAW  OF  CAMARGUE.     LAMOTHB. 

PAS'SSING  SHADOWS.     YORKE. 
PAT.     HINKSON. 
PERE  MONNIER'S  WARD.     LECKY. 
PILKINGTON  HEIR,  THE.     SADLIER. 
PRISONERS'  YEARS.     CLARKE. 
PRODIGAL'S  DAUGHTER,  THE.     Buco. 
PROPHET'S  WIFE,  THE.     BROWNE. 

RED  INN  OF  ST.  LYPHAR.     SADLIER. 

REST  HOUSE,  THE.     CLARKE. 

ROAD   BEYOND    THE    TOWN,    AND    OTHER    POEMS. 

EARLS.  SJ. 

ROSE  OF  THE  WORLD.     MARTIN. 

ROUND  TABLE  OF  AMERICAN  CATHOLIC  NOVELISTS. 
ROUND  TABLE  OF  FRENCH  CATHOLIC  NOVELISTS. 
ROUND  TABLE  OF  GERMAN  CATHOLIC  NOVELISTS. 

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